Tyson for Dummies
by Teenage.Dream92
Summary: Ever wanted to know what makes Tyson Granger tick? Well, Hilary Tachibana does. And so started her book...
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade.

Some things in life are hard to figure out.

I'm not talking about that stupid trigonometry problem. You know, that one that's been on your mind since you left school today? That one that you've attempted an infinite number of times, to no avail? The only question keeping you from getting perfect on your trigonometry assignment? That damn problem that you just want to shred into pieces, and then burn its remains?

…Well, that's not what I'm talking about.

And no, I'm not talking about your quirky neighbour Bev, the one who trims her bushes in the shapes of fruits and keeps her Christmas lights on all year. Bev always seems to come up with these new and fantastically weird rituals. There was the time when she declared her own national holiday. Apparently it was supposed to be the celebration of the colour green or something. She furthermore decided that children should get green candy on that "joyous" day. Of course, all the parents wouldn't allow their kids to eat these emerald-coloured chocolates; Bev is what you'd call…one foot shy of a mile.

But no, Bev and her sanity issues are not what I'm talking about either.

Of course, the answers to these problems are important. And I'm absolutely positive that, if I apply myself a little bit more, I could totally figure those out. But…there's just one other thing on my list of issues I have to figure out first. Probably the hardest, most complicated issue I'll have to address in my whole life.

Even though I want to say that I'll be able to figure it out, that I won't even break a sweat, that it'll be a walk in the park, I can't guarantee that. Delving deep into _this_ issue requires guts. Not to mention some inner strength, brains, and courage. All of which, I currently possess; I didn't get to be the class president five years in a row for nothing.

However, this mission requires more than just some leadership qualities. You need wit, charm, and the ability to weave your way into peoples' lives. You need knowledge of the teenage psyche. You need to know your stuff about the opposite sex.

Most importantly, you need to familiarize yourself with the world of spinning tops.

I've spent years preparing for this moment, and it's finally here. I'm on the brink of cracking this mysterious, mischievous, marvellous code. It'll be tough. And if I know _anything_ about this issue, it's that it'll be one wild ride. But I promise, for the sake of our world, I _will_ get to the bottom of this. After all, Hilary Tachibana is no quitter!

I only have two words left for you:

Tyson Granger.

Oh, god. This is going to be one hell of a ride.


	2. Tyson Rule 1: Never Say Die

**(A/N):** Hey guys! For anyone who read my Prologue and is curious to see something else about this story, THANK YOU! Just a heads up, though, this is my first ever FanFic, so this story might be a little rough around the edges. In any case, I'd really appreciate any comments you guys have, so please rate and review! :) Thanks again, and hope you like this chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade.

**Tyson Rule #1: Never Say Die**

_This is it. Today is the day I will start to unravel the mystery that is Tyson Granger._

It's that first day of summer, giving everyone the magical, fluttery feeling of being free, of being caught up within each and every moment, and of seizing the day. The wondrous day after school, hard-work, and exams has whisked everyone onto a cloud-nine of sorts; the exaggerated twinkle in their eyes has shown its sparkling face to the world, releasing the collective thoughts of inner happiness felt by each and every kid.

I prop my elbows on the window and stare out onto the street. It's around 11, and some children are slowly making their way to the streets. Some kids have already been outside for hours, enjoying the steady sunshine and the lofty breeze. I close my eyelids and focus on the sounds of the street. I hear the sounds of laughing, the sound of feet against pavement, and the sounds of water splashing. But one faint sound jumps out at me on this hot, summery day: the bombardment of metal on metal.

Just as I hear that noise, an explosion erupts. I open my eyes and stumble backwards as I see a flash of white-hot light from about two blocks away. Somewhat shielding my eyes from the intense glow, I continue to stare until a large wind – undoubtedly from the aftermath of the explosion – hits my face. My chestnut curls are disturbed slightly by the wind but I smile, noticing my cue. The day has finally begun.

I pass the mirror in my room as I run out, quickly surveying my appearance before I head to Tyson's dojo. It's pretty much my usual daywear – black top, some denim shorts, and an orange sweater. What's unusual is the flustered look on my face. As I look at my reflection in the mirror, a confused pair of ruby eyes blinks back at me. In my reflection self, I see that I am nervous, anxious even, for the first day of summer, to figure out that annoying Tyson. But the more I stare, the more insecure I feel, although I'm not quite sure why. I contort my facial expression into a half-smile, and head out the door.

As I step outside, I notice that the laughing, playing children have slowed to a stop. I see that they, too, have heard the explosion, felt its massive earthquake-like presence on the ground. I can see them looking for some sign of the apocalypse, and it's all I can do to stop myself from laughing. I know that these kids are probably too young to see the intense light that I still see, coming from Tyson's area. I walk by the terrified children, silently making a note to tell Tyson and the other Bladebreakers to tone down their pre-tournament training.

The jarring sound of grinding metal sounds again, this time louder, as I approach Tyson's dojo. I can hear Tyson's incessant yelling at his beyblade.

"Go, Dragoon! _Take. Him. Out!_"

More crashing, clanging, and tinny sounds erupt from the backyard. I decide to let myself in, knowing that the boys are too involved in their battle to get the door. As I make my way to the back, a spectacular light show begins to develop. Blue and purple lights twist and dance in front of my eyes as Tyson's opponent cries out in an effort to counter the ruthless attack.

"You'll never take me down! Draciel!"

I finally reach the site of all the commotion, and set my bag on the ground. I walk over to my fellow brown-haired friend, Kenny, and plop myself down beside him. I place my elbows on my knees, using my hands to support my head. No one seems to have noticed my presence yet, not even Kenny, who is feverishly entering data into his laptop; everyone is lost in their own world. I know from experience that trying to disturb their concentration is pointless. Or even deadly, if Kai or Tyson are involved.

In any case, the scene is way too familiar. I know the drill now, as it's been my life for the past two years. Sighing, I watch as the two 'blades begin their special attacks (nothing new, of course) – one provokes a whirring tornado cloud, while the other brings about a humongous tidal wave. As the beyblades prepare for a head-on collision, the two 'bladers yell out, in chorus:

"_Attack!_"

When the smoke clears, and the dust and debris settle, I see both Tyson and his opponent, Max, on the ground, looking quite dazed. Both of the beyblades have been knocked out at once. Tyson is the first to scramble up. He brushes himself off casually, rubs his nose, and grins childishly.

"Wow, Maxie, you almost got me there!"

Max opens his bright cobalt eyes, and gets up unsteadily. "What do you mean, _almost_? I had you right where I wanted you, Ty! I was so close!"

I watch as Max closes his eyes again, turns his back to Tyson and ends up facing me, his arms crossed. I know that Max _wants_ to be annoyed with Tyson, but everything about Max – his demeanour, his very personality – won't allow him to do that. I can tell that his frustration is all just an act to tug at Tyson's strings. Just as the thought crosses my mind, Max opens his clear, blue eyes and winks at me, before returning to his former posture.

"Awe, come on Maxie, don't be that way," Tyson replies unsteadily. I can see that Tyson has fallen for it hook, line and sinker. I could kiss Max right now! I watch the exchange curiously, trying to figure out Max's hidden agenda. "It was just a battle, we were both _really_ good!" Tyson slowly inches his way to his best friend, and places a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, man, you—HEY!"

In one swift motion, I see Max take Tyson's hand and flip him over. I practically double over laughing as I see Tyson tossed, like a paper bag, in front of Max. For a small kid, Max sure has got some strength.

"Damn it, Max, what the hell was that for?" Tyson groans. He removes his hat – which, amazingly, stayed put throughout the whole ordeal – and rubs his head.

"A little bit of payback, my friend," Max laughs and extends his arm to help Tyson up. Reluctantly, he accepts the blonde's hand and anchors himself up. "Boy, Tyson, Gramps is actually good at this martial arts stuff! You should try listening to him sometime," Max smirks.

"Ugh, _he_ was the one who taught you this? You've _got_ to be kidding me…I'm going to kill that old man!"

Tyson begins to make his way towards the dojo's back door, his fists clenched, when he spots me, nearly in hysterics. Tears are flowing down my cheeks as I get yet another mental image of Tyson being flipped by little Maxie. Oh god…my sides are starting to hurt. But it's worth it.

Tyson shoots me an annoyed look. "Well, if it isn't the _perfect_ Hilary Tachibana," seething sarcasm drips from his voice. "So it turns out she finally decided to show up to practice,"

"Y-yep!" I hiccup, still chuckling. I decide not to provoke him anymore by making comments regarding his little flip. Of course, just the thought triggers the memory once again, and I erupt into another fit of laughter. I'm almost positive that I've bruised some sort of internal organ from laughing so hard.

"UGH. STOP LAUGHING, WILL YOU?" His voice booms and I stop giggling momentarily. I look up to see him shooting daggers at me. "Since when do you come late, anyways? I think we should kick her off the team for being late. All in favour…raise your hand,"

Tyson raises his hand and looks around expectantly. Both Kenny and Max are quick to avoid eye contact with the reigning World Champ. I place my hand on my hips and smile at Tyson, whose brown eyes have now narrowed at his teammates.

"Seriously, guys? Are you kidding me? Hilary is a nagging, annoying, bossy little b—"

I raise my right eyebrow at Tyson and swiftly cut him off. "What were you about to call me…?" I can feel the anger seeping through my calm facade, but I'm determined not to let him get the best of me. I need to last at least a couple of hours every day, so that I can get the goods for my Tyson guidebook. I'm determined to figure out Tyson Granger, if it's the last thing I do.

He thinks he can mess with me? Better think again.

"I _said_ you were a bossy little b—"

Tyson is cut off again, this time by a black-haired boy, grinning wolfishly. He stands at the door of the dojo, and I can see him trying to hold his laughter in, too. Dropping his luggage on the ground, he makes his way to the porch where I was once sitting. He closes his topaz eyes and crosses his arms, with the hint of a smirk still on his face. "Ah, I see nothing has changed. The married couple still fights. Just like old times, eh?"

I can feel my cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. If there's one thing that I absolutely loathe about myself, it is my blushing. It is just a painful indicator of my emotions. My face gives away too much, and I hate it with a passion. Sometimes, I wish it would go away.

I try not to let it faze me. Quickly, I steal a glance at Tyson, who has somewhat retreated from his angry rant at me and has formally opted to stare at his other Bladebreaker teammate with vengeance. Although he's trying not to show it, I can see that his cheeks, too, have taken on a somewhat pink tinge, and not from anger. I want to laugh just looking at him; his bright red jacket brings out the redness in his chubby cheeks even more. But I decide against doing anything just to retract any attention towards me.

"Ray, you have no idea how glad I am to see you, buddy," Tyson promptly switches gears and turns to face me again. "Tell Hilary that she has to leave. She's nothing but a nuisance."

Ray laughs and jumps off the porch to face Tyson. "Sorry Tyson, but we can't kick our coach off of the team, she's too valuable," Ray winks at me too. I guess the affectionate winking must be a Bladebreaker thing. Well, except for Tyson that is. He's too high on his damn horse to pay any attention to anyone but himself.

I give Ray a grateful smile before turning back to Tyson, my eyes sparkling. I know I've won this battle.

Tyson is still gawking at his teammates, at me. I know he's madly trying to come up with some sort of comeback in order to even the score. I can see his brain working frantically to find some sort of way to turn things in his favour. I know this look so well – he often uses it while he's beyblading. Eventually, though, I can see the gears stop working within his head. Typical.

"Whatever," he says simply, putting his hands behind his head, closing his big brown eyes, and walking away. Translation: I have no comeback, so this conversation is over.

Hilary Tachibana wins. Again.

And with that final statement, I know the first rule that is going into my book. If you want to fight with Tyson, don't give up.

_Never Say Die_.

**(A/N): **Well, there you go, hope you liked it! Hopefully more will be up soon...I know it might be a little short compared to other Fics out there, but bare with me - this is my first :) Review if you'd like! Thanks for reading again!


	3. Tyson Rule 2: Hat Games Go A Long Way

**(A/N): **Why hello there :) Here is chapter 2 of "Tyson for Dummies", and might I say, its much longer than chapter 1 :D I got the idea about the hat from these Beyblade Memes on DeviantArt, if you haven't seen them already you really should, they're really awesome, not to mention quite funny. :P Oh, and thanks to you guys who reviewed, it seriously made my day when I saw the emails in my inbox and read the reviews! You people are the best! Anyways, don't wanna babble too long. ENJOY! :D

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade. Or Nestle Drumsticks. : )

_Tyson Rule #2: Hat Games Go A Long Way_

"Hey, Hilary!"

It's Friday, and it's starting to feel a lot like last summer. The sun's golden rays have graced the sky above us, shining proudly on Tokyo. The sky is almost entirely swathed in a vivid cerulean colour, save for a few wispy grey clouds. Other than the blistering heat, the day looks to be one of promise, one full of summer-loving fun.

I absolutely adore Fridays. During the school year, Fridays are that small victory in a week filled with homework, tests, and other 'unpleasant school-related nonsense' as Tyson calls it. It's the day that everyone takes it easy, relaxes, and procrastinates with schoolwork. Well, most people anyways – I prefer to finish my homework off on Friday itself, so I can have the rest of the weekend free to come up with training regiments for the boys. In any case, Fridays are _glorious_.

Fridays during the summer are similar to those during the school year in many ways. Although there isn't school during the week, there _is_ beyblade training to be done, which can be every bit as tedious as homework (at least for me). The days are usually filled with training, battles, sorting through mounds of data, and tweaking the Bladebreakers' beyblades. Last summer, after a tiresome day of preparing Tyson's beyblade for the upcoming World Championships, Kenny and I decided that there should be at least one day every week where we could forget about beyblades and just focus on relaxing. And so, Fridays became our team outing day.

Today, the Bladebreakers opted to take a trip to the beach, which I'm incredibly thankful for. This first week of summer has been brutal so far – Tyson, Ray, Max and Kai have been overworking themselves in an attempt to get back into fighting-form for their fourth World Championship. Kenny and I have been working behind the scene, which is just as tiring, and I was totally eager to get out of that stuffy dojo and onto the beach for some quality tanning time with the sun and a gossip magazine.

"Hey, Hilary?"

I scowl and shut my magazine as I hear my name being called for the second time. I was kind of hoping that whoever was trying to get my attention would have given up and walked away by now, but knowing the Bladebreakers and their characteristic determined spirit, I wouldn't have counted on it. Without getting up I turn my head to the side and remove my sunglasses just a bit, peering over their bejewelled frames to look at my culprit.

"Gee, Hilary, you look a little mad," Max says, scratching his head and grinning sheepishly.

Understatement of the year. Usually I don't get show my anger towards Max though, mainly because he's the most sensitive out of the group, and also because he's the nicest to me. And the fact that he isn't Tyson works in his favour as well.

"Hey, Max," I sigh and soften my expression to show that I'm not too annoyed with the blue-eyed 'blader. "What's up?"

Max relaxes and smiles. "I _knew_ you wouldn't yell at me! Tyson said that you'd throw your magazine at me if I disturbed you," Max laughs as my eyes dart around the beach, looking for Tyson. I make a mental note to clobber that jerk next time I see him. Max notices my somewhat irritated expression and tries to backtrack. "I'm sure he meant it in a nice way," he offers.

I slide myself up so that I'm sitting, and then I swing my legs over the chair. "I'm not buying it," I say, taking off my sunglasses. "Now what were you going to say Max? If you don't mind, I'd like to get some more relaxing done today before I have to get back to the world of beyblading tomorrow,"

"Oh right, sorry. I was just wondering if you could watch my stuff for a couple of minutes. I saw this ice cream truck drive by and I have a craving for an ice cream sandwich," He looks down and smiles awkwardly.

I cock my eyebrows at Max. "Wow, and Tyson resisted a chance to go get ice cream?"

"Actually, he doesn't know," Max says guiltily, playing with his thumbs. I can't help but laugh at his expression. "Tyson was a little _too_ enthusiastic the last time we went."

I nod in agreement, remembering last summer's incident. Max and Tyson had ventured to the convenience store to get an icy treat like usual. The child in front of Tyson had been waiting for an ice cream as well, and just _happened_ to get the last Nestle Drumstick. Needless to say, Tyson – in the style of a five-year old – threw a tantrum. It took four of us to drag the screaming World Champ out of there; it was embarrassing.

I wearily place my hand on my forehead and close my eyes. "Sure, Max, you go ahead; I'll watch your stuff for you. Get out of here before that big baby Tyson notices that you're leaving," I say, giving him a knowing smile.

"Thanks Hilary," he beams, picking up his wallet. "Oh, and I'd prefer you don't tell Tyson my whereabouts. He'll eat me alive if he finds out!"

"You're secret is safe with me," I assure him.

As Max scurries off, I check the time. It's around 3:30 p.m. – still plenty of time to catch up on this week's gossip before we have to head home. Before I delve into my magazine, though, I decide to do a head count of Max's stuff so that I know what to keep an eye on. I quickly scan through his stuff, careful not to do any unintentional snooping. There's not much there; there are a couple of towels, a music player, some T-shirts. But as I'm about to finish my check, something catches my eye. A piece of oddly-shaped fabric, clad in red and blue, is peeking out from in between the towels – Tyson's hat.

To most people, Tyson's hat is just a fashion statement (or fashion faux-pas, if you ask me). There appears to be nothing special about it; the back is an indigo blue, the front a crimson red. There's no piping or any detailing, no team logo or writing. It's just a baseball cap. Yet Tyson wears it every single day without fail: it's the first thing to be put on in the morning, and the last thing to be taken off at night. He's worn the same hat for the eight-or-so years I've known him, and I'm positive he'll still be wearing it on his wedding day, during the birth of his first child, and most likely on his eightieth birthday.

Although it just looks like some scrappy, worn-out hat, Tyson worships it with every fibre of his being, and I'm not exactly sure why. All I know is that it needs to be washed.

I'm staring at the bundled hat when I hear Tyson's voice getting louder and louder. I look up to see him walking in my direction, his hatless self wet from frolicking in the ocean. Without giving it another thought, I quickly slide the hat out from its position between the towels and put it behind me on the chair. I slip back into a lying position on the chair, conveniently hiding Tyson's hat in the process. But I think I throw my self onto the chair too forcefully, because the next minute I feel that awkward sensation of falling backwards. I close my eyes and prepare myself for the fall.

When none comes, I tentatively open one eye to see what prevented my fall. Tyson stands at the foot of my chair, grinning, his hands clutching the front two feet of the chair. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"You should really think about lying down slower, Hil," He bears his teeth as he gives me his characteristic grin. "You could get hurt,"

I roll my eyes at his smug remark. "For your information, I was perfectly okay with falling backwards. Did you ever stop to think that _maybe_ that was what I wanted?" My attempt to defend my stupidity fails. Big time.

Tyson laughs loudly, causing others to stare at our exchange curiously. "Oh really," He says, sounding amused. "So, if I let the chair go now, you wouldn't mind if you fell?" That stupid juvenile smile is still plastered to his face. He thinks he's got me right where he wants me.

"NO!" I shriek, a little too piercingly. "I mean, no, it's okay. Falling backwards was never my thing anyways," I try to shrug casually, but it comes out as a twitch.

"Whatever you say…" He says, finally placing my chair back to its original position on the ground. "Hey, I'm hungry Hil, wanna go and get something to eat?" He pulls out a towel from under the pile of Max's stuff, and begins drying himself off.

"I-Um, sure!" I reply enthusiastically, causing him to look at me questioningly. My uneasiness is getting the best of me.

"Did you just agree without making fun of my eating habits?" he asks, in disbelief, stooping to pick up his shirt. He slips both his arms through the sleeves and pulls his head through the neck-hole. He continues to study my odd behaviour as I nod wordlessly. I can tell he's suspicious by the way he's scrutinizing me, but I don't care. It's only a matter of time now…

Tyson bends down once again. "Hey, aren't you gonna get…" His voice trails off as notices that something is amiss in that pile of stuff. Frantically, he begins rummaging through the mound of Max's belongings. "Where is it? I swore, I left it with Maxie's stuff," I can tell he's panicking because beads of sweat are slowly starting to form on his head. "Where. Is. It!" he groans, resolving to dig in the sand, as if the ground swallowed his beloved hat. He's getting close to an emotional breakdown. "Where the hell is my freakin' hat?"

I smile, shifting from my lying position so that I'm now sitting up. I swiftly try to move Tyson's hat behind me, concealing it from his view. He turns to face me, his hazel eyes burning holes into my own ruby ones. "What?" I ask sweetly, giving him an innocent smile.

That's all it takes for Tyson to spring into action. With speed that I've never seen from him before, the navy-haired boy lunges at me, full force. I laugh and jump out of the way, counting my lucky stars that I'm light on my feet. Tyson misses me, hitting the sand with a thunderous crash. Slowly he rises up from the sand and gives me a murderous glare, breathing heavily. I wave his precious, patchy hat in front of face. "Tyson, you really need to get a new hat. This one is _so_ worn out. This is for your own good…"

Almost instantaneously, I start running towards the shore, hat in tow. I hear Tyson following me, I hear his voice cry out, "Damn you Hilary! Come back here! Don't you dare throw my hat into the ocean!" but I don't stop. The adrenaline is coursing through my veins as I happily dash towards the sparkling waters. I feel invincible.

I finally make my way to the coast and spin around, to see Tyson standing a few feet away, giving me a death stare and huffing and puffing. His fists are clenched, his feet wide apart in a fighting stance, and there's no denying that he's angry beyond belief. I smile, knowing that I've finally managed to find a way to annoy the hell out of him. "Nuh uh!" I wag my finger at him tauntingly. "Not any closer or your hat here gets a nice, long, _salty_ bath!"

"Ugh!" He yells, causing practically everyone on the beach to stare at us inquisitively. Not that I care, because I'm pretty sure our earlier antics got their attention before anyways. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME! Give me my damn hat!"

"Only if you agree to be nice to me from now on, and to respect me," I tell him matter-of-factly.

"_Never_!" He shouts, charging for his hat simultaneously.

I'm caught off guard as his body makes contact with mine. All I feel is the massive force of his hands on my shoulders. I close my eyes for a split second, and the next thing I know, we're practically in mid-air. Everything seems to slow down as I see, to my dismay, my hand lose its hold on Tyson's hat. Then time speeds back up again, and before I know it, we're both on the ground, rolling closer and closer to the ocean waters.

When we finally stop, our bodies are dangerously close to the water. My back is lying on the wet sand, and Tyson is on top of me, holding me down. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Tyson is the first to snap out of it. Without getting off of me he looks at me, concern lining his features. I must have a dazed look on my face because he starts shaking me and asking me questions. "Hilary? Hey, Hil, are you alright? Hilary!"

I feel the soft touch of the lapping waves against the left side of my body and I come back to reality. I shake my head and groan. "Ty_son_!" I scream, kicking my legs and moving my arms in an attempt to push Tyson off. "Get the hell off of me! Who the hell tackles someone for a stupid hat!"

"I'll take that as a yes," Tyson says, grinning. He takes both of my delicate wrists and holds them together using only one hand of his own, effectively stopping my flailing. "In which case," he continues, switching his position so that he's now sitting on my stomach. "I'll be taking _this_." He reaches over me with his free hand and takes his dampened hat. "Hey, you got it all wet!"

"That should be the least of your problems, you dimwit!" I yell, not bothering to tone down my voice. "You tackled a _girl_ for a stupid hat! No wonder you don't get any dates!"

Tyson reddens a bit, looking considerably bothered. "Hey, keep it down, will ya?" he pleads. "Can't have the public thinking that the World Champ can't get a date!" he grins at me again, but I am _way_ past infuriated. I open my mouth to scream out another pride-bruising comment when Tyson clamps his hand on top of my mouth. "Just listen. This hat was given to me by brother when I was little, and it's kind of important to me," he says, staring into my eyes.

I'm a little shocked at the depth that Tyson displays, but I get back to my normal self. I open my mouth a little under Tyson's hand and pinch his hand with my teeth, just enough so he releases his grip on my face.

"Ow, sh—"

Before Tyson can finish his explicative, someone clears their throat. I look up to see Ray, Max, Kai, and Kenny staring at us with an odd expression.

"Um, guys? Mind getting off each other for a sec?" Ray teases, causing Tyson and I to turn a dark shade of pink. Tyson leaps off of me hastily and brushes the sand off of his swimming trunks.

"Heheh…" Tyson laughs nervously as he extends his arm to help me up. Naturally, I swat it away, still seething from our confrontation. Although, I have to admit, Tyson's non-idiotic reason for keeping his hat surprised me. At least I know what to put under day two of my Tyson guidebook.

_Hat Games Go A Long Way._

"Did you go get ice cream without me? _MAXIE_!"

I laugh as Tyson has another fit. This time, I decide to let the boys handle it. I've had enough of Tyson for today.

**(A/N):** Well, there you go! Hope you liked it :) Review if you'd like! Other than that...I think that's about it :) Talk to you next update!


	4. Tyson Rule 3: Trash Talking 101

**(A/N):** Hello all! :) First of all, I want to thank you guys again for reading my story - it really means a lot to me to know that people are enjoying it! Secondly, thanks to those who reviewed. :) And finally, here's chapter 3! Product of exam-studying procrastination! It's a little random, lol, but I wanted to throw Kai into this story somehow. Anyways, hope its okay, enjoy :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade.

_Tyson Rule #3: Trash Talking 101_

Tyson is about to explode.

Typically, people use the word "explode" metaphorically to indicate that a person is having emotional problems, usually of the irate variety. But as I stare at Tyson, he looks like he's about to combust, literally. His face is scrunched up into an expression of pure hate, his face is burning a livid red. He's trembling from head to toe, his hands balled up so tight that his knuckles have turned white from the pressure. His left eye begins to twitch as he slowly begins to raise one of his hands in an accusing point towards the culprit. I watch Tyson's anger come to a slow boil, a satisfying smile on my face. Surprisingly, I'm not the target of his rage this time.

I sit and watch from the sidelines as Tyson absolutely erupts into a string of profanities. Like a volcano spewing ash and hot lava all over the place, Tyson spits insults left and right at none other than the mysterious Kai Hiwatari. Kai stands a few feet away from Tyson, eyes closed and arms folded neatly in front of him. Unlike Tyson, Kai doesn't appear to be angry at all; on the contrary, he appears to be calm, cool, and collected. He shrugs off every single insult Tyson hurls at him, simply opting to hold his ground and remain silent.

Of course, this just rattles Tyson to the core even more. I put pressure against my ears with my hands, trying desperately to muffle the sound of Tyson's new set of explicatives and insults. When this fails, I resolve to get up and stop the fight myself. Tyson is so loud, so flamboyant, and so passionate in his rebuttal that his voice has risen yet another decibel. I'm pretty sure that the whole neighbourhood can hear his rant now, and if he's not careful, he'll be kicked out of Tokyo within minutes. Slowly, I rise up from my position on the backyard veranda and start to creep up behind Tyson. Someone catches my wrist and yanks me back, though, and I whip around to stare them in the face.

"What was that for?" I hiss at Kenny, who drops my hand like a hot iron.

"I-I think you should s-stay out of it," He tells me, trembling. He backs off a little bit before tilting his head in Kai's direction. "I-I think Kai's g-got it under control."

I follow Kenny's gaze and look at Kai curiously. His eyes have now shot wide open. He stares down his opponent with his fiery violet eyes but still doesn't move. I can see that he's not frightened or intimidated by the World Champion's nasty words, nor is he breaking under the pressure of the Tyson's verbal abuse. In fact, he looks downright confident. But other than that, he shows little or no emotion concerning the plethora of foul language.

Then, as quickly as the argument started, Kai puts it to a momentary stop. "Shut up, Tyson, your blatant swearing has gotten annoying," He says tonelessly. "If you're the World Champion, act like it. Have some class."

For a minute, Tyson is speechless, his face showing a hint of dazed stupor and turns a little redder from embarrassment. But then Tyson snaps out of it and is set off on a crazed, maniacal tirade. "How _dare_ you!" Tyson jabs his finger at Kai accusingly. "I'm more of a World Champion than you'll ever know!" Stomping his feet, Tyson lets out a primal scream and jumps at Kai.

Within the span of a couple of seconds, Kenny and I are pushed out of the way and onto the sidelines. I see Tyson being tackled by Ray and Max, their hands gripping the shoulders of the overwrought blue-haired boy in attempt to keep him from attacking their captain. Kai still hasn't moved an inch, not even to protect himself from the distraught boy that would have had his throat, had his teammates not gotten to him first. He watches apathetically as Ray and Max restrain Tyson.

"_Let. Me. At. Him!_" Tyson screeches, trying to claw his way from the stone grip of his friends.

"Whoa, buddy, calm down," Max coaxes Tyson. "You need to keep your temper under control."

I see Tyson shoot him a hard glare. "So what, you're on his side now too?" The envy and betrayal is unmistakable in his questioning voice, in his eyes, as he sees his friends against him.

"Cut the crap, Tyson!" Ray jumps in for Max, returning Tyson's icy stare. "We're not on anyone's side. You just get too riled up sometimes, and it's not good for you. It could have an effect on your 'blading, too, which isn't good for anyone, especially the team. And think about what your young fans will think if you do this during the Championship!"

Tyson blinks twice as his Chinese friend pauses. Ray has always been the most logical, sensible and responsible guy in the group. When he talks or gives advice, he addresses others as his equal. His rationality shines not only when he's beyblading, but also off the dish, too. Tyson, as well as the other members of the team, look to him like an older brother, someone who will always be there for them and someone who will always give their honest opinion.

The reality of the situation hits Tyson and he gets up anxiously. "Yeah, I suppose you're right, Ray," He nods, acknowledging that he is in agreement with his friend's statement. "I'm sorry guys. I guess my anger just got the best of me," he says sheepishly, trying to give them a smile. He turns around to face Kai. I can tell he's still furious (after all, he _is_ Tyson) but at least he's calm now.

"Hn. Whatever." Kai says emotionlessly, turning away from Tyson. I watch as he leaves the dojo and disappears out of sight.

"Ugh, I cannot _stand_ him!" Tyson groans, punching the supporting pillar of his backyard porch. He comes to regret his action as his fist makes contact with the painfully hard wooden surface. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, _ow_!" As he jumps around, yelping in pain, I breathe a heavy sigh. Sometimes Tyson acts like a selfish three-year-old, throwing tantrums and doing childish things. Someone needs to instil some manners into that boy.

Eventually Tyson stops his little dance and comes to stand beside Kenny, resting his arm on the little brunette's shoulder. Kenny looks up at Tyson through the forest of hair on his face and smiles nervously, slightly anxious after Tyson's anger incident. "So, Chief, who am I up against now, since King Kai," Tyson rolls his eyes, "deserted us?"

Kenny fidgets around with his glasses, pushing them up and down his face while he contemplates how to reply to Tyson. I've known Kenny for about the same amount of time I've known Tyson, and this habit of his is characteristic when he has to tell the rather agonizing truth to a friend. He becomes all restless and his eyes (if you can even see them under his long bangs and spectacles) start to dart around the area. And don't count on trying to look him in the eye for a straight answer; he tends avoids eye contact altogether.

"W-well T-Tyson," he stammers, looking down at his laptop. "Y-you're not b-battling anyone else t-today."

"_WHAT_?"

At this point I decide to jump in, electing to save my petrified little friend from being clobbered by the emotionally unstable storm that is Tyson. "Relax Tyson," I say, giving him a cold-hearted stare. I hear Kenny huff a grateful sigh as I continue. "Since you managed to piss off your only opponent for today, I think it's only fair that Max and Ray get the last battle?"

"But _why_?" He whines, placing his hands on my shoulder. I push them off, annoyed.

"Did you not hear what I just said? You brought this upon yourself."

"_Hil_ary!" He cries, putting emphasis on the first part of my name. He hits his head against the same pillar that wounded his fist and I give him a dismissive look, turning to Max, Ray, and Kenny. "That should keep him under control," I mouth, discreetly motioning to the traumatized 'blader behind me. They all nod together, smirks outlining the features of their faces as they watch Tyson sulk on the porch. I turn back to the depressed-looking Tyson and place my hands on my hips. "Now, you be a good boy while I'm gone," I ridicule, sneering at his grumpy behaviour.

My comment, instead of provoking him more, solicits an unwarranted smile and the brightening of his eyes. "You're leaving?" he asks, grinning.

"Gee, you don't have to be happy about it." I respond, feeling more than a little hurt.

"No, that's not what I meant," He jumps up and flashes me his pearly whites. "I _meant_ that I want to come too!"

In that moment my mouth drops to the floor and I just stare at him. Really, really stare. This unusual behaviour from Tyson has rendered me speechless, and I continue to gape at the gleaming navy-haired teen. Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, his cheerful expression turns to one of alarm. Tyson leans in really close to my face and looks into my wine-coloured eyes, our noses almost touching. Just when I think he's going to do the unthinkable, he pinches my face with one hand and turns it sharply to the right so that his mouth is near my ear. "Earth to Hilary!" he says, causing me to flinch due to the sound intensity.

"No – no _way_ are you coming with me to the library," I finally reply to his question, holding the ear that was exposed to the horrifyingly loud sound of Tyson Granger's voice. "Why do you even want to come? You never want to go anywhere with me, so why _now_?" I squeal, whirling around to look at the other Bladebreakers, hoping that they'll back me up on this one.

Kenny, as usual avoids eye contact. Max and Ray give me an apologetic look. "Well…" Ray starts, and by the look in his amber eyes I know what he's about to say. "It might be good for Tyson if he took a little break. To cool off…" I narrow my eyes as Ray rubs the back of his head awkwardly. I can sense the terrible direction that the conversation is about to go in.

"Don't even say it, Kon." I growl. "No, Tyson, you aren't coming with me. Just stay with the guys and watch their beybattle."

"Aw, come on Hil, I'll be on my best behaviour," he pouts. "Besides, I'm not even going to be able to beyblade anymore today, so I can help you with…" He ponders the thought for a minute. "…whatever you need help with!" he decides, not being able to come up with any other reason. He smiles proudly. "Just consider it my punishment for making Mr. Icicle leave in the middle of practice!"

"Sounds more of a punishment for me than for you," I mutter under my breath. "Fine. Whatever. But one wrong move and you'll be in the doghouse, you hear?" I give Tyson the meanest death stare I can muster.

"Ehh…okay!"

Providing Tyson with one final once-over, I turn my heels and head for the back door of the dojo, picking up my bag on the way out. I swing the strap of the bag over my head, not bothering to stop to put it on properly. I look over my shoulder quickly and see, to my utter disbelief, that that Tyson is following me expectantly, almost like a lost puppy. His hands are behind his back and he's looking at me inquisitively but he doesn't say a word, obviously trying to avoid any confrontations for the time being. Weirdly enough, he's _actually_ being quite obedient, just like he promised.

We walk in silence towards the library – me being in front and Tyson lagging in the back – and the only sounds are the rhythmic taps of our shoes against the pavement and our somewhat laboured breathing. Ultimately, I think the overbearing noiselessness of the situation breaks Tyson down, because he speeds up his pace in order to walk beside me. I hear him approach on my right but I don't turn my head to acknowledge his presence.

"Hey, Hil?" he asks softly, treading carefully so that he doesn't disrupt my quiet comfort too much, "You still mad at me?"

I finally turn my head to look Tyson in the eyes, and I can see that, underneath his pig-headed exterior, his question is actually sincere. I hate when he gets all soft on me, mainly because I can't hold a grudge when I see him looking so…helpless. I sigh before responding. "I guess not," I tell him, giving him a thin smile.

I think he's anticipating that I'll add to my clipped response, but I don't. Instead I keep walking, my face straight ahead and locked in on our destination. We continue on, neither of us speaking, suffocated by the awkward atmosphere. I can tell that Tyson is extremely uncomfortable; his face is locked on his shoes, his hands are in his pockets and he appears to be quite squirmy. Obviously this once-confident, know-it-all boy seems stumped when it comes to awkward silences. I smile to myself.

Tyson catches my secret smile and looks at me curiously. "Why are you smiling?" he inquires, attempting to start another conversation.

"Oh, you know," I say, and he gives me another odd look. "So what was that back there?" I decide to change the subject, not wanting to reveal the actual reasons for my random smile.

"Back where?"

"Back at your house. With Kai," I gesture with my hands to the empty space behind us, indicating that I'm talking about their heated exchange.

"_Oh_. That." Tyson realizes what I'm referring to and suddenly begins to look down, to play with his fingers. Still not making eye contact, he responds, "Um. It was pre-battle trash talk gone too far?" He lets out a nervous chuckle and runs his hand through his navy-coloured hair. He's phrasing his response as if it were a question, almost indicating that he needs some sort of assurance.

"Trash talk?" I blink a couple of times, and then burst into laughter. "You've got to me kidding me! Trash talk, all for a game of spinning tops," A wisp of a smirk forms on my lips.

Tyson closes his eyes, crosses his arms and sticks his nose up in the air, clearly annoyed. "What?" he asks haughtily. "Everyone does it. It's common practice."

I try to stifle another outburst of laughter because I can see that Tyson is seriously arguing the benefits of trash-talking to opponents before a match. Honestly, I don't see the point in it; it only gets the competitor more motivated to take you down. Plus, it's just not good etiquette. Opponents are supposed to be classy and dignified, not ruthless and reckless. I want to make this point to Tyson, but I don't want to bruise Tyson's ego too much, mainly because he's had enough of that from Kai. However, something inside me doesn't want to stop harassing the poor capped teen. "I know. But yours is by far the worst," I blurt out, giggling.

Tyson opens his eyes and gives me a hurt look. The painful expression isn't mimicked by his brown eyes though; they instead catch the light of the sun and twinkle, hinting that he's actually kidding. I know he's not terribly hurt by the comment, and at that moment I'm happy that Tyson has finally learned to take a joke. "Hurtful," he says in a whiney voice, which just makes me laugh even more.

Tyson starts laughing too, and eventually we both collapse onto the curb, shaking uncontrollably. When the laughter finally subsides, I sigh, and place my elbows on my knees, holding my face in my hands. He places his own arms on his knees and folds them, using them as a cushion as he lays his head down on top of them. Together, we just sit in silence, watching the now-fading sun disappear below the horizon. We watch our shadows grow longer and longer and then ultimately disappear. We see the moon peek out from within the darkness, and stare in awe as the glistening little stars poke out from in the velvety night.

I sigh. "I was supposed to go to the library…" I let my voice trail off uneasily. The atmosphere has become ever-so-slightly awkward again.

"Mhmm," he bobs his head slowly. We're both quiet for about a minute longer, and then he breaks the silence with another comment. "You know, you should try it sometime." Tyson suddenly starts, lifting his head up and tilting it to the one side.

"What?" I ask, genuinely interested.

"Trash talking," he throws me a lopsided grin and then starts getting up. "It can actually turn the battle in your favour, you know. It works, trust me,"

I smile at his little piece of advice, starting to wonder if it could be applied in other ways. Like maybe against Tyson himself, perhaps? Almost involuntarily, I grin at the prospect of having another chapter for my little book of Tyson.

_Trash Talking 101_.

"Wanna put your beyblade where your mouth is?" I ask him tauntingly, getting up and dusting myself off so that I can start the long walk back home.

"I would, but you don't have a beyblade, and I'm pretty sure you don't know how to beyblade either," he shakes his head in confusion.

Oh god. Still as idiotic as ever.

"_Oh! _You're trash talking!"

**(A/N):** Okay, so there you go! Hope it wasn't too...random, haha! Anyways, review if you'd like, it'd be greatly appreciated :) Talk to y'all laterrr :)


	5. Tyson Rule 4: The Puppy Dog Pout

**(A/N):** Hey people! It's me again, with yet another chapter! Again, this chapter might be a little random, but I _so_ wanted to see a chapter like this somewhere in the story. My inspiration for this chapter was my little 2-year-old cousin - she has the biggest, cutest brown eyes in the world, and I felt Tyson should have the same :P Haha! It made me laugh to describe Tyson's special look, lemme tell you ;) Anyways, its longer than the other chapters (again) which can be good or bad depending on how you look at it, lol.

Before I let you guys read, I want to take the time to thank you guys that have been reading and following my book again, as well as those who reviewed :) I am so thrilled you guys like it so far, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! Lemme know what you guys think, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Anyways, HERE IS CHAPTER 4; enjoy! :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade.

_Tyson Rule #4: The Puppy-Dog Pout_

"Ack!"

I wake up with a start to the chiming sound of my alarm clock, its high-pitched shriek echoing around the room. I pull my comforter completely over my head, hoping that its annoying tune will dissipate and return my room to its former peaceful glory. Unfortunately the tinny noise continues and I gently peel back my blanket. Still lying in my bed, dazed, I stare at the dizzying patterns on ceiling. My body feels like lead and I don't want to get up, but the alarm clock is still buzzing in the background; a constant reminder of the full day ahead. Slowly I manage to sit up, rubbing my eyes groggily. Without turning around I feel around for my alarm clock on my bed's headboard behind me. When I finally find it, I smack the off button weakly, ending its noisy terror.

Without getting off of my bed I stare at myself in the mirror. I'm definitely not a pretty sight; there are distinct, dark rings around my eyes, my face is drained of all colours and I'm suffering from a horrible case of bedhead. I sigh at my misshapen appearance, resolving to get up so that I don't have to face my tired reflection.

As I crawl out of bed I notice that the day is void of all sunlight. Ominous purple clouds hover around the bustling city of Tokyo, threatening to envelope the town in a downpour. The streets are dark and there's not a single person outside; they, too, have probably noticed the depressing atmosphere and have decided to stay indoors for the day. Momentarily I stop to think about how this will affect the training for the Bladebreakers. But my thinking becomes blurred due to lack of sleep, and so I give up quite quickly.

After my morning rituals I slip out the door, grabbing an umbrella from the stand on the way out. The streets are just as lonely and deserted as they were when I woke up, but the feeling is much gloomier than I had felt looking out my window. The distant clap of thunder makes me jump and I whip my head to the Tokyo skyline, where I see a flash of lightning. I scramble to open my umbrella as the harsh winds toss me around. Finally my umbrella bursts open, and not a minute too soon; a massive release of water hits my little black umbrella with a crash right as it is opened. I scurry to my second home as quickly as possible, trying to shield myself from the unforgiving weather.

I practically bolt down the street and into Tyson's driveway. I know the boys will probably be inside during this weather, so I head straight for the door. I use my hand to rap urgently on the tiny wooden door, trying to make the sound louder than the pitter-patter of the rain against the dojo's roof. I stand, squirming in the rain, for about a minute before someone comes to the door. Instead of opening it, though, they slide the mail-slot panel of the door open. I see a pair of recognizable chocolate-coloured eyes staring at me curiously.

"Tyson, let me in! I'm getting soaked out here," I tell him, banging on the door once again.

"Patience, Hil. What's the secret password?" My sight of his face is limited because of the small size of the mail panel, bit I see his eyes take on a somewhat playful twinkle.

"I dunno, beyblade? Just let me in!" I thump on the door once again, this time more forcefully. My umbrella has finally succumbed to the terrifying wind, being flipped inside out and totally useless. I just want to get inside before I'm drenched.

His nose scrunches up and he shakes his head. "Sorry, Hil. That's not the password," he gives me an apologetic look, but it's tainted by the hint of a smirk in his eyes. "Only people who know the password can come in here, and since you don't know it…I guess you're out of luck."

"Damn it, Tyson," I scream. "Let me in there! I'm starting to _freeze_ out here!"

"But it's summer," he throws me a look of confusion. "How can it be cold when it's _summer_?"

"Ty_son_!" I shout, not in the mood for his somewhat playful stupidity. I kneel down so that I'm eye to eye with the mischievous boy. "You let me in there, or so help me…" My voice trails off and I don't finish my sentence. Instead, I opt to stick my slender hand into the mail slot and pinch Tyson's scrawny nose between two of my fingers, hoping that Tyson gets the message across.

"Ow! Stop that, it—OW!" I pinch his nose a little harder, this time digging in with my nails. I hear him shriek in pain and I smile evilly.

"Let me in, Granger, or you won't smell the delicious aroma of Ray's cooking ever again. If you know what I mean."

Almost immediately the door clicks open. I prop one of my feet in between the doorframe and the now-open door as a preventative step, making sure that Tyson won't be able to slam the door on my face once I free him. Satisfied, I release my death grip on Tyson's nose and stand up. I fold my broken umbrella and walk in to face the disgruntled Tyson, his hands clutching his sore face. I give him a long, cold stare as I walk by and then, for good measure, I take my wet umbrella and whack him squarely in the head.

"Jerk," I huff. I ignore Tyson's cussing and whining, instead walking to the far corner of the dojo. I lean against the wooden panels of the wall and slide down into a sitting position. I cross my legs and continue my angry glaring.

When I hear the sound of muffled laughter emanating from across the room, I shift my head so that I'm staring in that direction. Kenny, Max, and Ray are sitting in the opposite corner, crumpled in a heap and holding their stomachs as they continue to snigger silently. Even the lone wolf Kai, standing by the window a little ways away, has a smirk drawn on his face as he stares at Tyson and the newly-emerging bump on his head.

"Damn, Hilary, you already broke my nose, did you have to go and hit my head too?" Tyson moans, rubbing his head.

"Yes." I tell him plainly, not bothering to elaborate.

"Tyson got beat up by a girl," I hear Max snicker quietly. This starts another eruption of laughter from the group, but this time they don't bother to be quiet. Their low laughter fills the room, causing Tyson to glower murderously at his teammates.

"What was that Maxie?"

"Errr…nothing Tyson," Max gives him an innocent smile, but the ghost of a leer is still plastered to his face.

Tyson grunts, turning his attention back to me. "You _do_ realize that you could have killed a brain cell or two, right?"

"You didn't have any to start with, so don't worry about it so much." I retort. "Can't lose what you don't have," I shrug at him nonchalantly, stating my insult as if it were a known fact.

Instead of responding to my obvious attempt to undermine him, Tyson just drops to his feet and sits down, clearly exasperated. For the next few moments we all sit in an aggravated silence, the only sounds being the booming thunder and the skittering of rain on the roof of Tyson's house. The softness of the atmosphere, although dull, gives me a chance to reflect about my day so far. I would have easily taken staying at home and sleeping in over the getting soaked in the rain, fighting with Tyson, and sitting in the near-dark dojo. I mean, no one is even doing anything. Kenny gave up on entering data about ten minutes ago, instead opting to play a round of Tetris on his laptop. Max is leaning over his shoulder, watching the mesmerising coloured shapes dance across the screen and be put into place. Ray is sleeping on the wooden floor, one hand under his head the other clutching his beloved Driger beyblade. Kai's hasn't moved from his position since I arrived, but he has turned away from the rest of the group, choosing to look at the dreary scenery through the window.

My eyes continue around the sullen room until they find Tyson. Shortly after our fight, Tyson slid away from the far wall, placing his hands on the back of his head and leaning back completely in one fluid motion. He hasn't moved since that moment, except to shift the position of his feet momentarily. His head is still facing the ceiling and his russet eyes haven't diverted from the patterns on the ceiling. Usually, in such a darkened room, Tyson would have fell to the same fate as Ray, becoming unconscious in minutes. But for some reason, he hasn't even batted his eye within the past hour. I think he's deep in thought over something, but since I'm no mind reader, I can't figure out what's irking the champion beyblader.

I can feel myself getting really restless so I stand up and stretch my arms and legs. I feel like doing something, something to get my mind off of my horrible day. "Hey Kenny," I address the brown-haired boy and he pauses his game and looks up, as do the rest of the Bladebreakers. "Isn't there anything we can do today? I'm bored out of my mind,"

I see Max nod in agreement and hear Kai give a grunt of approval. Kenny adjusts his glasses before responding. "I…don't know. It's unfortunate that we're trapped in here today, there's just not much we can do."

"Maybe we can…do some beyblade part checks?" I suggest, placing my hands on my hips. "Like taking apart the rings and cleaning them or something?"

Kenny's eyes brighten at my idea. Most people hate the thought of cleaning their beyblades, mainly because there isn't the same fast-paced adrenaline rush that you get from actually spinning in a match. Cleaning a beyblade is more of a...slight buzz in comparison. But Kenny loves that sort of stuff; he's perfect for the job, too. He thinks in a very technical and analytical way. Personally, cleaning beyblades isn't my cup of tea, but I'll take it _any_ day over the lacklustre 'relaxing' we were just doing a couple of minutes ago.

"Hilary, that's ingenious!" Kenny nods eagerly. He spots the sleeping Ray holding his grey beyblade and, figuring that he might as well start on fine-tuning his beyblade, leans over to pry Driger from his hands. But Ray's hands only tighten the grip on his 'blade as Kenny tries to wrestle the small object out of his claws. Eventually, Kenny gives up, flustered. "Uhh…so yes, good idea Hilary – let's get to it!"

It is at this moment that Tyson chooses to interrupt. "No, let's not." He finally gets up from his position and skids in between Kenny and I, his back to me. He opens his arms in protest and begins complaining to Kenny. "Come on, Chief, do we really have to? It's boring."

"There's really nothing better to do in this weather. Besides, you guys should learn how to manage your own beyblades anyways, in case I'm not there to tune it up one day." Kenny dismisses Tyson's pleas quite easily. When Kenny knows that there's practically no way to for someone to argue his point, he takes on this confident persona – a huge contrast to his usual worrywart behaviour. It sounds cruel, but I kind of have the urge to smile at Tyson's pain to come; there's no _way_ he's getting out of this one. Serves him right for keeping me outside in the pouring rain.

"Oh Chief, come on?" This time Tyson phrases it as a question, still trying to pressure Kenny into giving him a break.

My jaw literally drops when I hear what Kenny says next. "Oh um…fine, alright. You can do whatever you want Tyson…"

Wait, what? What just happened here? Tyson just happened to change the way he begged, and Kenny just _let it go_? There's no way that's possible. No freaking way. Kenny wouldn't just let Tyson get off, scot free from _cleaning duty_. What the hell. I was _so_ looking forward to seeing the Tyson's tortured and brutally bored face as he shined Dragoon to sparkling finish.

Tyson walks away from Kenny with a satisfied smile on his face, heading back to his secluded corner to lie down once again. I watch him as he puts his hands on the back of his head, leans all the way back, and then proceeds to stare at the ceiling once again. I turn around to face Kenny, whose face has considerably whitened since his conversation with Tyson. Frowning, I see Kenny become the familiar jumpy, anxious teen I know him to be. Obviously, he's anticipating my severe questioning.

"What happened, Chief?" I whisper, narrowing my eyes. "Why did you let him go like that?"

Kenny just laughs nervously and runs a hand through his auburn hair. "I decided to give Tyson a break?"

"Not working, Kenny," I stare at him directly in the eyes. "Did he threaten you?" I roll my sleeves up to my elbows and make a fist. "I'll take him down for you, Kenny. I did it once today and I'm not afraid to smack some sense into him again!" I see Max double over in laughter, obviously thinking about today's earlier incident. I don't really care if Tyson's pride is bruised; I am just _itching_ for some payback, some sort of revenge for his disrespect.

"Don't worry about it Hilary," Kenny replies, a little tensed. "It was nothing."

"Right," I say sarcastically. What sort of voodoo did Tyson Granger pull this time?

I pry my attention away from Kenny and decide to get some answers directly from the source. When I turn around to Tyson's secluded corner, though, I don't see a trace of his bright red jacket or his sunshine-yellow shirt. In fact, Tyson is nowhere to be seen. I bite my lip, frowning and wondering where he could have gone.

I scamper out of the room and into the kitchen, my feet sliding across the linoleum floor. I hear the slight rhythmic hum of the dishwasher as it cleans away; hear the sound of the tea kettle on the stove. Other than the droning sounds, the room is perfectly abandoned, and there is still no sign of Tyson. I'm about to head back to the other room, where the other boys are located, when I catch sight of someone sitting outside on the porch through the kitchen window. I sneak up to the door, careful not to make a sound, and peer through the glass. I'm relieved when I see the familiar sight of a red and blue hat.

I open the door and let myself out, preparing to scare Tyson, who is staring at the rain with a lost, dazed, look on his face. I'm about two feet away from him when, suddenly, he slams both his hands on the porch beside him and whips around to face me. His abrupt movements scare the living daylights out of me, and I fall backwards, hitting the ground with a thud. I can feel the recognizable emotion of anger coming back.

"You thought you could scare me, huh Hil?" he says, grinning. "Well, serves you right."

"Whatever, Tyson." I roll my eyes and slide over to where he is sitting. "The only reason I came here was to ask about Kenny," I tell him, hoping to end the conversation as quickly as possible. I don't feel like talking to the obnoxious jerk that left me out in the rain, but I'm so curious about Tyson's remarks to Kenny that I push the loathsome feeling out of my system temporarily. "I don't plan on being here long, so let's make this quick – what did you say to Kenny? He just let you go after you asked him, no questions asked. Did you threaten him Tyson? Because if you did, let me tell you something, Grang—"

Tyson swiftly stops my rambling by interrupting me. "Relax, Hil," He sighs, raising both his hands in a gesture of defence. "I didn't do anything to Chief."

"I beg to differ," I say, narrowing my eyes into thin, squinty slits. "Kenny doesn't just let people off like that. Especially," I continue, "when beyblade cleaning duty is involved. If you expect me to believe that—"

"Shut up, Hilary, and just watch me for a second,"

"How _dare_ you tell me to shut up! You're making me mad, Tyson. If you don't answer my question right now—"

I stop talking again, this time because Tyson places a single finger on my lips. "Be quiet, will you?" He instructs me, looking at me squarely in the eyes. "Just…wait for a minute. Watch me _carefully_." I nod, a bit stunned, unable to speak. His finger lingers on my lips for a fraction of a second longer and then he removes it, effectively causing me to shiver involuntarily. I exhale deeply, thoughts racing through my mind. I don't get to address these thoughts, though, because a couple of seconds later Tyson's grandpa walks through the kitchen door, his sights set on Tyson.

"Yo, T-dawg, if you're not going to beyblade with the homies, why don't you catch up on your chores? You haven't done any all week, little man," Gramps says, narrowing his eyes much like I had before.

I observe Tyson carefully, just like he told me to. At first, Tyson doesn't say a word, doesn't start screaming out protests. He doesn't even groan or make a single complaint, which is totally uncharacteristic of the lazy boy. I don't actually notice anything other than his odd behaviour, so I stare at the silenced boy sceptically. Just as I'm about to turn away from the exchange, _it_ happens.

I see Tyson open his big brown eyes, making them so wide that they take up nearly his entire face. His huge auburn orbs begin to glisten as if he's about to erupt in tears. His eyebrows scrunch up into an innocent-yet-playful expression, and his mouth forms into a distinct little frown. He sticks out his quivering lower lip and looks up at Grandpa Granger. I observe Tyson, awestruck; his cute expression is nothing short of gush-worthy.

I follow Tyson's gaze to his grandfather, whose stern expression has melted into one of a softer nature. "Maybe...you can do it some other time, T-dawg. After your friends leave," he says simply, and stalks off.

As soon as Gramps is out of sight, Tyson wipes the adorable look off of his face and smiles childishly, rubbing his nose. The transition from cute to cheeky is so quick; I can tell Tyson's pulling a sham, using that lovable face to turn an argument in his favour, to get his way. I know it's wrong, but I can't help but admire his conniving ways.

"What the hell was that, Tyson?"

"The puppy-dog pout," He answers casually, placing his hands on the back of his head and lying down like he did before in the dojo. He answers me as though everyone knows about it, as if it's no big secret. When I shoot him a questioning look, he continues. "When I was little, my dad used to joke that the Grangers had the ability to win people over with our charming good looks," I gag, and he laughs me. "But seriously, I don't think he was wrong. Ever since I was little I've used this face, and it works like a charm every time," He smiles a massive, toothy grin. "And people don't even mention it when they're asked about it. It's like their embarrassed to admit they were won over by a cutie pie like me," He winks, and I gag. Again.

"Really, Tyson?" I ask him, looking at him with serious doubt. "You think you can make your way through life giving people that silly look, expecting them to fall all over you? It's the face of a two-year old; no one will take you seriously. You can't just expect to relieve your problems by making eyes at whoever's involved,"

Tyson doesn't answer me. Instead, he turns to me slyly and asks, "Hey, Hil, you still mad at me?"

"Duh," I say, a bit confused at the rapid transition from our previous conversation.

He turns around and I crumble. Literally. Damn the fact that I'm a sucker for brown eyes. Damn the fact that he looks so cute when he does that face. Damn the fact that I'm a big softie…

Damn that _Puppy-Dog Pout_.

**(A/N):** And there you have it! I hope you guys enjoyed it. Review if you'd like; other than that, have a marvelous week! I'll probably only get to updating sometime next week...have 4 final exams in the next 7 days...oh joy. LOL anyways, thanks again for reading :)


	6. Tyson Rule 5: Know Your Limits

**(A/N):** Hey all! :) Hope you guys are having an awesome week so far - its almost the weekend yay! I have chapter five for you - I hope you like it! Again, it's so _very, very_ random, just a heads up. And the rule at the end might come up a little abrupt, but bear with me, this is something about Tyson we _all_ know :P Haha! I just wanted to stick Tyson's awesome impression in there! If you don't know what I mean, you will soon...and if you guys haven't already watched Beyblade G-Revolution Episode 8 - go do it right now! I love Tyson (L) Haha, anyways, enjoy :)

Oh, and thanks to all of you who have been following along, and especially to those who reviewed! :D

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade...or any songs on the _Beyblade Soundtrack_. Or any songs by Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus. Or her movie. : )

_Tyson Rule #5: Know Your Limits_

"_I'm not going down, I'm standing my ground…_"

It's around noon, and my head is starting to hurt. I place my head in both my hands and fold over, longing for the pounding and throbbing of my forehead to die down. To make things worse, I can feel my stomach getting upset, I can feel the acids and my early-morning breakfast churning, flipping, turning. My tummy seems to be going wild, and my head seems to be going along for the ride. Warily, I pull back from my crumpled position and face the window. All I need is some fresh air, and then I'm sure I'll be okay. Maybe.

"_You haven't seen the last of me…_"

There are very few things in this world that I will admit defeat to. Anyone who knows me personally will tell you that I rarely give up, that I always try my hardest to make the best of any situation, and I pride myself for that single fact. But there are several things that drive me up the wall that I can't avoid, and being in a car for a long drive is one of them. I hate to admit it, but I have a horrible case of carsickness, and it's not going away any time soon. My weak stomach always gets the better of me when we're on a road trip, and it isn't cooperating with me today. Staring out the window sometimes helps; it gets my mind off of the claustrophobic interior of the car. But, more often than not, the nausea and headaches return, making me feel like crap.

"_Cause I'm at my best, been put to the test…_"

I start to fiddle around with the window beside me, trying desperately to pry the latch open. I pick with my nails at the traces of rust, hoping that the latch will somehow crumble. But the more and more I tinker with it, the sorer the tips of my fingers become. I remove my slender fingers from the unmoving latch and slowly watch as they turn a throbbing red colour. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my stomach and calm my headache. The trip will be over soon, and I just have to wait a bit longer until we reach the wilderness training facility. Then we'll be out of the bus and into the fresh mountain air.

"_I'm like a fall of victory…_"

I whip my head around to face my seat partner, throwing him a dirty look. Somehow, when we were deciding the seating arrangement for the bus ride to the camp, I ended up sitting with the World Champ. Of all the times to have to put up with Tyson, this was the absolute worst time in the world. I can barely put up with him for a couple of hours; sitting next to Tyson for a four-hour bus trip was brutal, especially with a sickness. I would have preferred to sit next to _anyone_ else. Kenny would type away on his laptop, would be somewhat concerned of my condition. Maxie would go on a rant about some obscure topic, giving me something interesting to think about. Ray would shift between bouts of silence and talking about his hometown, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Even our stoic captain Kai would be better than Tyson; at least he would give me some peace and quiet while I tried to focus on getting better.

But no, unfortunately I am stuck with Tyson Granger. And he chooses to be completely oblivious to my situation, belting out the lyrics to a song playing on his iPod.

"_I'm not gonna stop, until I hit the top…_"

"Tyson, would you stop your damn singing? I'm getting a headache here," I snap.

Tyson stops singing momentarily, meeting my glare with a look of bewilderment. "What, Hil? You'll have to speak up! I can't hear you!" He bellows, practically causing me to go deaf.

I sigh, reaching over to yank his headphones off of his ear. He watches my hand confusedly as I manage to find the thin, white cord and pull his headphones off in one swift motion. "Geeze, Tyson, indoor voices _inside_," I tell him, scolding him like a preschooler. "Your music is on so loud that you're screaming over it just to talk to me."

Tyson grins at me sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry, Hil. What did you say?"

"I asked you if you would stop your singing. It's getting so damn annoying…"

"You don't like my singing? My mom always used to say I sung like an angel," He pauses for a second, which allows him to hear his fellow teammates snickering. A look of annoyance dances across his face before he continues. "Besides, Hil, this music gets me pumped up. It's how I get ready before a beybattle. It actually helps me concentrate."

"Sorry, Tys, but I have a _huge_ headache here, and if you'd even bothered to look at me," I add, "You would notice that I'm not feeling the greatest now. And your singing isn't helping much." I tell him bluntly, not really bothering to hide my distaste. I'm not in the mood for an argument; my head hurts way too much. "No offence." I fold over once again, holding my sore head in my hands.

"Oh, sorry Hil..." His voice sort of fades away, and the atmosphere becomes a little tense. "Is there anything I can do?" he asks a few moments later, giving me an awkward pat on the back.

"Ugh," I groan. "Get this damn bus to the training area faster, that's what." I mutter, my face still in my hands.

"I can't really do anything about that. But," he says, somewhat excitedly, "I _can_ take your mind off of this trip! Let's listen to some music. Like I said," he flashes me a smile, "it helps get people pumped up."

"Tyson, really. I'm not in the mood." I lift my head up and give him a somewhat angry stare. Instead of heeding my visual warning, he takes one of the earphones that are lying on his lap and sticks it in my ear, a little too harshly. "Ouch," I mumble, adjusting the tiny grey and white speaker in my ear. If it'll shut Tyson up, I guess I should be glad to take the earphone.

"Now…let's see. How about…_Swing Low_? What an epic song," he breathes excitedly, taking his bright orange iPod from his lap and scrolling through some playlist. I grit my teeth as I hear the familiar clicking noise of the cursor; god, it's annoying. "I remember," I thought Tyson was done talking, but he's still moving his mouth at a mile-a-minute. "I listened to this song before my beyblade match with Brooklyn!" Tyson prattles on about his beyblading memories and I just sit in my seat, the drone of _Swing Low_ going on in the background.

Eventually, I lose my patience with Tyson and I grab the iPod from his lap. I need something to keep my mind occupied for the last few minutes of the journey, and I think that a game on Tyson's iPod nano will keep me mildly entertained. Tyson doesn't notice when I glean his beloved music player from him, instead opting to continue talking to himself about his experiences. I scroll out of the menu, trying to find my way to the games, when I come across an interesting playlist.

"Tyson," I say, trying to stifle an outburst of laughter. "_You_ have a playlist of Hannah Montana songs?"

"_What_? How did you get my iPod? Gimme that," he cries, leaning over my body to try and snag the iPod from my hands. I hold the iPod high above me, making sure that he's not able to reach it. Luckily, his seatbelt is restraining him, making easy work of my job. "Hil_ary_! Give that back!"

I laugh, continuing to scroll through the playlist while simultaneously holding it away from the clawing Tyson. "_Best of Both Worlds_? _Supergirl_? _Butterfly Fly Away_?" I smirk at the list of twenty-or-so songs. "Even _I_ don't have this many, Tyson."

"The songs are catchy," Tyson pouts. "And when Miley sang that song with her dad…it was so emotional!"

"Don't tell me you watched the movie,"

Tyson doesn't answer me. He just looks down at his hands and twiddles his thumbs, round and round. I see him turn an interesting shade of tomato red and he starts muttering something under his breath, something which I can't quite make out. But I don't really care; I just start heaving my shoulders in a loud, throaty laugh that fills the bus. I'm near hysterical – my eyes are watering, my insides aching much more than they were when I was simply carsick. The thought of Tyson watching _Hannah Montana: The Movie_ just makes me want to howl with laughter for hours on end. Through my tears, I see Tyson shoot me a combination of a murderous glare and an embarrassed smile. I hold off on my laughter momentarily, practicing my self-restraint.

"Shut up," Tyson grumbles. "They'll know,"

"Know that you like to watch _Hannah Montana_?" I start cracking up again. Just the mention of the words set me off, and I hold my stomach in pain as I giggle for another two minutes straight. When I've calmed down, I turn to Tyson and hold his iPod to his face. "Let's listen to this," I say, and he gives me shocked look. "Hey, I'm not a hater. I like Hannah Montana as much as the next girl. Whoops, I mean next _guy_," I say, snickering again.

"Cut it out, Hilary." I hear Tyson say as I press the play button. The familiar melody of _The Climb_ starts up in our ears, and I hold back the urge to laugh again.

"_I can almost see it,_" Miley's voice croons, and I see Tyson's face turn a bright crimson, the same colour as his trademark jacket.

"How about we sing along?" I suggest tauntingly, and Tyson just turns away from me slightly, giving me a short grunt and crossing his arms. He closes his eyes and pretends to sleep, an annoyed look plastered to his red face. He doesn't say anything to me for the rest of the ride and I sigh. At least I got some peace and quiet, as well as a fairly good distraction. I snigger to myself quietly and turn away from Tyson myself, leaving the rest of his dignity intact. Like Tyson, I close my eyes and concentrate on the lyrics of the song, willing the bus ride to be over soon.

"Uh…Hil?"

My head throbbing, I open my eyes slowly as I hear the sound of my name echoing around me. My eyelids feel as though they're made of lead, and it takes me most of my efforts to pry them open fully. I blink a couple of times, trying to get the scene into focus, looking for the person who called my name just seconds ago. I don't feel like getting up, though. I'm comfortable where I am.

"Hilary?"

I finally register the voice as Tyson's, but I don't see where he is. "Mhmm…what is it Tyson? Let me relax in peace. I want to survive the rest of this bus trip," I growl, closing my eyes again and keeping my leaden head down.

"You _did_ survive the bus trip," I hear him say. "You fell asleep a little while ago. Now we have to get off the bus. Everyone already got off,"

"Mhmm. Then just leave me here for a sec. I'll come out when I'm ready, you go ahead," I say hastily, eager for him to leave. I feel like staying here forever and catching up on my sleep. I wish I could just laze around all day, instead of having to worry about beyblades and tournaments and tune-ups. I wish I could nap for eleven days straight.

"Uh…" Tyson's reply comes with a little bit of hesitance. "I would, but you're kind of lying on me…"

In a heartbeat, my eyes flash open. Without moving right away, I quickly study my position, trying to figure out if Tyson's words are true. My hands are half-draped around him in a weak hug, my far hand on his jacket collar and the other clutching his arm closest to me. My head is laying half on his shoulder and half on his chest. It doesn't seem like he moved at all since his arms are still crossed in front of him, the way they were the last time I saw him. I bolt up from my position sheepishly, turning just as red as Tyson did before. "Oh…sorry Tyson,"

He throws me an awkward, lopsided grin. "Hey, don't worry about it."

He gets up from his seat and removes both our bags from the overhead compartment, pretending like nothing ever happened. Sighing, I stare as he twists his sports bag around his shoulder and places his iPod within one of the zippers. Did he really let me use him as a human cushion while I slept, and without complaining? How long was I out for? Nervously, I watch as he starts making his way off the bus. He stops before he exits, though, and gives me an odd look. "Why're you staring at me, Hil? And aren't you going to get your stuff and come?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm coming!" I say, smiling. He returns my smile with another grin, and leaves the bus.

I exhale deeply and grab my stuff, slowly making my way to the door. When I reach the steps, I literally bounce outside into the fresh, sunny air and take a huge inward breathe. I'm already starting to feel a little better; my stomach has calmed down plenty, and I can feel my headache slowly starting to dissipate. I drop my bags to the ground and yawn, stretching my hands above my head. I make my way over to the boys, who have assembled in a little group and are chatting boisterously. Well, except for Kai.

"Hey guys," I say, yawning.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," Ray says to me, a smirk on his face. "Have a good nap?" He winks at me, and at first I'm confused. Reality sets in though, cold and hard, and I realize that the others must have seen me wrapped all over Tyson while I was sleeping. I feel my face flush, and see Tyson's do the same. I'm not sure how to respond to Ray, so I just ignore his question. Tyson jumps in, though, saving me from any further humiliation.

"Hey, you know what I noticed? I haven't shown you guys my Kai impression," Tyson beams, from ear to ear. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kai twitch. "Last time Daichi and I were here training, I premiered it to the world. It's the best impression of him you'll ever see, just ask Kenny! Isn't that right, Chief?"

Kenny eyes the lone captain nervously before replying. "Um…sure…"

"Hey Kai," Tyson spins around and faces Kai, his brown eyes sparkling merrily.

Kai's cold violet eyes stare back at Tyson indifferently, his facial expression showing apathy and his jaw set. He meets Tyson's friendly greeting with a menacing glare before responding. "What, Tyson? This had better be important."

Tyson clears his throat. He closes his eyes, stands up straight, and crosses his arms, mimicking the captain's characteristic pose. I have to admit, Tyson has the right posture and everything. Now all he needs is the scarf and the face paint...

"I'm Kai," Tyson begins in a gruff voice. "I'm better than you. I go where I want, when I want, for I am king of the world. Hail to the king, _baby_!"

Max and Ray start snickering, causing Tyson to smile in pride. Having gained approval from two of his teammates, Tyson looks to Kai, who has taken on a position much like the one Tyson just mimicked. Unlike Tyson, however, his demeanour is just as cold as it was before, and there is no sign of a smile in sight. His face is still locked in a frown. "So, buddy, what did you think?" Tyson asks expectantly.

"Hn."

"Geeze, Kai. Try smiling once in a while," Tyson says defensively, waving one hand dismissively in front of Kai. "Everyone else liked it. Admit it, it was dead on!"

"Hn."

"I'll take that as a seal of approval!" Tyson beams, walking past Kai towards Max and Ray. As he passes Kai, though, I see the captain subtly stick out his foot in front of Tyson. Tyson trips and falls, landing on the dirt with a solid crash. With his face still in the dirt, I hear Tyson muttering profanities at Kai, although the annoyed captain doesn't hear any of it; instead, he starts to stalk off towards the cabin, his bags in tow. Tyson pushes himself up slowly, rubbing his elbow and giving the now-disappearing Kai a dirty look. "He doesn't know how to take a joke, does he?" Tyson groans loudly.

Next time, if I were Tyson, I'd stop before Kai gets mad. Sometimes Tyson doesn't know he goes too far…which brings me to my next rule.

_Know Your Limits_.

Hmm. Maybe I should listen to that piece of advice too?

Nah.

**(A/N):** There you have it! Rule number 5 for Hilary's guidebook :P Hope it was okay! Review if you'd like, and have a good day! Hopefully I'll get another chapter done soon, but until then, see you :)


	7. Tyson Rule 6: Sleep Is Happiness

**(A/N): **Hey all! I'm _so_ sorry that I didn't update sooner! This chapter was actually harder to write than the rest, not sure why. I guess I had a bit of writers block maybe? Haha, well anyways, it's done! Before you read, THANKS TO ALL WHO HAVE REVIEWED/FAVED/FOLLOWED/READ this story, I'm always so excited to check my FanFiction and find a review or to discover that the hit count is up. So yeah, thanks :) Anyways, without further ado...chapter 6. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade.

_Tyson Rule #6: Sleep is Happiness_

"Rise and shine, boys!"

The hallway I'm standing in is half-lit and desolate, the only sound being the thrumming of my fingers against the wooden door of the boys' room. The only source of light is a small hanging lamp that is fixed just above and to the right of the door but, unfortunately, it keeps flickering. The constant switch between darkness and light is driving me insane, the clicking of the bulb filament adding to my bubbling annoyance. I press my ear to the door, trying to forget the sights and sounds of the hallway and concentrating on the noises within the room.

"Come on guys, I'm giving you a thirty-second warning," I yell through the door, frowning. "If you don't open up soon, I'm going to kick down this door and barge in there," I pause for a moment, biting my lip, trying to think of an exciting threat to unleash upon the Bladebreakers. Coming up with new material to get them up is hard, tiring, and irritating, especially when you have to think through the early morning half-dazed phase that you go through as soon as you wake up. I heave an exasperated sigh and let my head droop towards my shoes, but something in my hand catches my eye. I slowly move my Blackberry from one hand to the other, smiling evilly.

"I'm going to barge in there and take pictures of you guys in your boxers on my Blackberry and send them to every crazy fangirl I know," I grin to myself and place my entire weight on the door, leaning back fully. "And probably to some tabloids too."

Through the door I hear the sounds of frantic shuffling, some hushed voices, as well as the padding of footsteps across the room. However, I don't hear anyone make their way to the door to let me in, and so I release another short breath in annoyance. "Okay. You guys asked for it. Breaking down the door in three…"

More shuffling and voices erupt from behind the door.

"Two…"

I can hear distinct low voices whispering to each other, but I can't hear the words and sentences that they create. The discreet mumblings of the boys don't seem to indicate that they're coming to open the door, so I guess I have no choice but to use my skills in the fine art of karate. I move back and prepare myself by positioning the camera on my phone in front of me, and placing my feet in strategic areas so I can knock the door down efficiently.

"One…"

I propel myself in a burst of momentum, barrelling full-speed towards the door. I close my eyes and prepare for my shoulder to make contact with the door. But just as I'm about to hit the door with full force, I hear the subtle click of the doorknob. I open my eyes in time to see the door fly open, revealing the ominous dark interior of the room. I fling my arms out in an attempt to slow myself down, but my socked feet skid across the linoleum floor. Before I know it, I'm on a crash course for a suspicious-looking blanket mound on the floor.

"Ahhhh!" I squeal as I trip over the pile of blankets and pillows, my momentum carrying me into the air towards the white-washed wall of the darkened room. The wall stops me in a matter of seconds as I hit it with a massive thud, my whole right side instantly becoming numb from the blow. I groan, sliding down the wall and coming to rest on the cold, hard floor, and letting my Blackberry clatter to the ground beside me. At first, I don't feel anything; my entire body is still feeling somewhat disoriented. However, a few short moments later, the pain attacks me. I feel like I've been run over by a truck.

It takes me about a minute to process the last few moments before my accident, the impact from the collision temporarily causing slight amnesia. But once I figure it out, I scramble to my feet quickly, my shoulders heaving huge, angry breaths.

"God damn it!" I bellow, sort of slurring my words together on account of blatant rage. I'm a little dizzy as well, probably because I got up too fast, but I don't really care anymore. I'm just so damn _angry_. I stumble a little, feeling a little faint, but I steady myself enough to roar, "Who the hell did that?"

I whip around to face Kenny, Max, and Ray, their expressions frozen in one of pure fear. I feel a wave of satisfaction wash over me as I ponder the thought of instilling fear in my much-stronger, much-bigger teammates. As my face stretches into a small smile, I begin to stalk over to their little corner. Slowly, I stomp through the last few feet, ignoring the gritty aches of all my limbs. The three culprits back up into the wall, their large orbs surveying my movements as I bring my face within inches of their noses.

"Tell me what I want to know," I hiss, narrowing my eyes into thin slits.

None of them answer me, their eyes darting between each other, giving sideways glances which are silently conveying information that I don't know. I simply close my eyes and turn away from them on my heels, flipping my honey brown locks as I start to stroll towards the door. I can sense their relaxation as I slowly make my way away from them, and I hear them breathe a collective sigh of relief. I get to the doorway and place my hand on the cream-coloured doorframe. In one swift motion I twirl around, my sights set on one certain spectacled boy. I stick one slender finger out and motion him towards the door, my crimson eyes now open and fiery.

"Kenny," I say carefully, subtly picking up a block-like silver object lying on the ground near my feet. "Get out into the hall _right now_." I hold the somewhat heavy object into the light emanating from the hallway and I hear a sharp gasp. Smiling, I pinch the corner of Kenny's laptop between two of my fingers, letting it dangle precariously over the ground. "Dizzy looks a little scared up here, so far from the ground." I continue, forming the words slowly with my mouth. "What do you think, Chief?"

"N-n-no!" Kenny says as I prance out of the room into the hallway, his laptop in tow. Moments later I hear the scurrying of the brunette's feet across the floor and into the hallway. The flickering light chooses this moment to return the hallway into a state of darkness. I use the darkness to find the doorknob handle and pull the door shut with a satisfying _boom_, which echoes through the deserted hallway. I feel around for the cord of the hanging light and, finding it, I pull it close to my face. Conveniently, it illuminates, providing Kenny with the startling image of my face against the white-hot light of the bulb.

"Hi Kenny," I mumble in a raspy voice. The poor, disoriented boy looks at me with a startled expression and backs up against the far wall. I cackle manically when I see my reflection in Kenny's glasses. I'm _so_ far-gone; I must've rattled a few brain cells loose when I hit that damned wall, but I can't help but slump into a crazed posture. Kenny notices my wild demeanour and tries to make an escape back into the room, but I slide in front of the door, holding my hands out. "Not so fast,"

"W-what are you g-going to d-do to m-me?" He stutters, eying the laptop in my hands.

"Nothing, as long as you tell me the name of the person who screwed me over,"

The tiny boy adjusts his glasses and looks down at his shirt, fiddling with his tie. "W-we were just l-letting you inside like y-you asked…" His unsteady voice drifts off.

"At the exact moment I was _ABOUT TO BREAK DOWN THE DOOR_?" I yell, not bothering to tone down my voice. I'm starting to see red again; I can find _so_ many holes in his last sentence. "_Tell me who opened the freaking door!_"

"Ahhh!" In a girlish scream much like the one I uttered in the room before, Kenny makes a mad dash down the hallway, his arms flailing on either side of him. I'm caught off-guard by his high-pitched screech so I loosen my grip on his laptop as he passes by. Quickly, Kenny grabs Dizzy out of my hand and disappears around the corner, his voice still ringing in my ears.

Muttering, I let go of the lamp and fling open the door, only to find the other two culprits nowhere to be seen. When I feel a soft breeze ruffle my cardigan, I shift my attention to the window, which – to my dismay – is wide open. Max and Ray must have snuck out while I was interrogating Kenny, effectively letting them off the hook. Silently I make a vow to train those three into the ground for the remainder of the season, causing them as much pain and suffering and torture as possible.

"Those idiots," I mutter, letting myself fall onto the pile of blankets that tripped me as I rushed into the room only moments before. I sigh, running a hand through my auburn hair. I figure that the guys will have to come back eventually, and when they do, I'll be ready to pounce. Until then, I decide to focus on resting my aching muscles. Without shifting my position, I lean over, stretching my hands towards the wall. My hands find the object that I am looking for – my Blackberry. I'm about to go on a texting spree when I feel the bedding beneath me move, almost causing me to fall backwards.

"Ugh," I hear it groan, turning underneath me.

To my amazement, two arms, clad in green sleeves, stick out from the mess. One appears in front of me, the other just to my right. A few seconds later, I catch a glimpse of some midnight-blue popping out of one of the blankets. I stare, bewildered. It can't be. I thought he'd somehow made a quick escape along with the other Bladebreakers. I'd actually sort of suspected him of opening the door as soon as I was about to break it down. But I guess…he was under the blankets all along. And I guess he was the one that _tripped me_.

"Tyson," I grumble, deliberately placing pressure where I'm sitting. Tyson yelps in response.

"Ow, get off! Get off!"

I grin in a very Tyson-like manner and bring my lips close to his ear. "You tripped me, you loser!" I shout, startling him to the core. He darts up into a sitting position, knocking me backwards into the nearby wall. My back hurts but I ignore it. I mean, I've endured a lot of injuries today and one more can't hurt, right? I brush my hands together and smirk, cozying into a comfortable place.

"Huh?" He asks, scratching his head as he looks around the room in a perplexed manner. His eyes come to rest on mine, and suddenly his expression changes from confused to irritated. "Hilary," he whines, crossing his arms, "why'd you have to go and wake me up?"

"You slept in, dummy," I reply shortly, causing Tyson to huff in annoyance. He blows strands of his messy hair away from his face before crossing his legs and glaring at me with a livid expression. I sigh and close my eyes, tired of the same routine every single morning. "Oh, don't give me that look," I say, addressing the look in his eyes. "It's a quarter after eight – you were supposed to be up and ready at seven-thirty."

"Seriously, Hil," Tyson replies, bobbing his head disapprovingly, "this drill-sergeant attitude won't get you anywhere in life."

"And suddenly you know me _well_?" I question, both anger and hurt simmering at the surface of my feelings. "You know what, Tyson? I can and _will_ do whatever it takes to help you guys win. And if you're _so_ dense that you don't realize that, then I can't help you."

I see Tyson's normally-sunny face contort into one of hurt as his mouth stretches into a frown. "Come on, that's not what I mean."

"Well, then, what _do_ you mean?"

"Look, Hil, I know you mean well, but sometimes you're too…intense about it," he replies, his eyes lighting up. "Sort of like Kai!"

"_What_? What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Ugh! Girls are so hard to talk to," Tyson grunts, closing his eyes. "You say one thing, they take it the wrong way. Then you try to fix it, and it still doesn't satisfy them. You can never win!" He throws his hands up in the air, defeated.

I blink at him, somewhat dazed. I place my face in my hands and stare at him, suddenly seeing him as someone different. He seems more…mature now. If that's even possible for an arrogant, idiotic, hard-headed 'blader like Tyson. It's weird thinking of Tyson as the responsible one. I turn this thought in my mind over and over again, trying to get used to the idea. Tyson's words are starting to make more sense now, so I refrain from using my usual retort. "Sometimes you can," I give him a soft smile, causing him to look at me quizzically. "Okay. So what am I supposed to do?"

He flashes me his trademark grin. "Go easy on us sometimes; we're not dogs you know,"

"With your eating habits, I wouldn't know it."

"Whatever," he scoffs. "The point is, maybe we'd all be nicer to you if you'd let us slack sometimes. I mean, we already have someone to work us into the ground with Mr. Sourpuss out there. We don't need another Kai! Oh god, that would be _hell_."

"Point taken," I laugh.

"But don't let go too much, Hil," he adds, his brown orbs locking onto my ruby ones. "We would never have gotten to be the World Champions for the past two years without your help," He looks down at his fingers and twiddles his thumbs anxiously. His confession has me caught off guard, although I'm startled to find that his nervousness while admitting it is kind of charming.

"Aww, Tys," I gush. "You're getting soft on me,"

"Shut up," he grunts, falling backwards onto his pillow again. "Okay, so I'm going back to bed. It's way too early. Night, Hil,"

I roll my eyes as he pulls the covers above his head, concealing his entire body. Momentarily, I debate whether to let Tyson sleep in a little longer or not, seeing as the extra forty-five minutes gave him some much-needed logic, humility, and a tiny bit of friendliness. Maybe giving him another hour would decrease his ego and boost his gentlemanly senses…well, sleep isn't a miracle worker, I suppose. So probably not.

Still, _Sleep is Happiness_. At least with Tyson.

"Oh no," I mutter, finally deciding to wake him up. "You're not getting out of practice _that_ easily."

I'm almost positive that all of Tokyo hears Tyson scream a few moments later when I pour that ice-cold water over his head. Oh god, I freaking _love_ my job.

**(A/N):** So what did you think? Tell me in a review if you'd like! I'd love to hear some thoughts of yours! :) Anyways, will try to start working on a new chapter soon. Other than that, Happy Early New Year :D Byeeee :)


	8. Tyson Rule 7: Food For Thought

**(A/N): **To the people who asked about TFD, I'm sorry I lied a little! It was totally unintentional X( I thought this was going to take a little longer to do before I uploaded it :P But I actually had a lot more done on it that I knew, so I stayed up today to finish editing it and adding minor things and such :D My way of saying sorry for the long time to update XD Forgive me! Well anyways, there's a little drama going down in this one, just thought I'd let you know. At least, I think it would be considered drama. Haha :P Okieee, let me know what you guys think, I'd love feedback :) So...without rambling more (again), here's chapter 7 :D

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade.

_Tyson Rule #7: Food For Thought_

_Oh. My. God._

That's what's going through my mind right now as I watch Tyson scarfing down lunch.

His stomach is like a freaking vacuum cleaner, I'm telling you. As if possessed by some unseen force, Tyson is sucking up everything in his path. One minute, there's a bowl of hot, steamy rise in front of his face. And then the next, there's nothing there. Like seriously, WHAT THE HELL. Is he inhaling his food or something? Maybe that's why he rubs his nose so much…

I sigh. It's around 1, and the sun is high in the sky, radiating its scorching-hot waves onto the campsite. Tiny, near-invisible heat mirages have begun to appear on the hot tarmac, distorting the view considerably. The once-green grass has yellowed within the span of a couple of hours, and as I glance at a nearby pond, I can see that it is also suffering the effects of a hot, summer day; the gurgling water has been evaporated to a minimum. I shift my attention back to Tyson and stare, in horror, as he continues to shove food down his throat.

Momentarily, I tear my eyes from the bottomless pit that is Tyson Granger, and look at my fellow teammates. Kenny, Max, and Ray are all gaping stupidly at Tyson as well, and like me, they can't seem to find their appetite; their bowls of food remain untouched. Kenny catches me staring at them with an amused expression on my face and, embarrassed, resorts to taking his chopsticks and poking at his rice. Max and Ray trace Kenny's side glance to me, and I can see them mimic my smirk. They don't stop observing Tyson, though; in fact, they put down their chopsticks entirely and outright gawk at the hungry boy before them.

Tyson stops and looks up from his feast, grains of rice stuck to the sides of his mouth. "Hey, guys, aren't you gonna dig in? This stuff is _delicious_!" In one swift motion, he grabs the pot of rice and heaps the remains into his bowl once again. Figures he wouldn't ask anyone else if they wanted any more.

"Tyson, don't you have any manners?" I sigh yet again, glowering in his direction. He doesn't seem to notice though, and instead continues his gorging rampage. Finally he tilts his head away from his empty bowl and grins, exposing a set of teeth full of chewed rice. Before I can stop him, he begins talking with his mouth full.

"Acchhh, chome on, Chilaryyy, why doncha lechme each inch peishhh?"

"Ew, you jerk," I reply, leaning back in my chair and shielding my eyes from the painful view. "Why can't you be a decent guy, one with manners, one who's polite to their team, perhaps?"

Tyson decides to finish eating before responding to my comment. Wise choice. "Decent guys don't win the Beyblading World Championships, three years in a row!" He boasts, flashing me a proud smile. "Besides, since when are you allowed to tell me how to eat?" I see a flicker of annoyance in his eyes as he interrogates my motives.

"Um, well since you decided to pig out and ruin all of our appetites?" I reply to his question casually, throwing him what I _hope_ looks like a 'Don't-you-dare-mess-with-me' look. "And just so you know, just because you got to spin in the deciding battles three years in a row doesn't mean that you are the sole champion." I cross my arms and wait for his response.

Surprisingly, though, none comes.

I look at Tyson and see something that I rarely ever see. He's looking down, staring at his empty bowl, his fists clenched on either side of him. I can't see his eyes, as his long bangs are shielding them from my view. I know, right there and then, that something's wrong, but I don't stop my rant to ask him what's wrong.

"God, Tyson, sometimes you can be so dense." I close my crimson eyes and wait again.

I hear the noise of his chair falling backwards before I actually see it. I open my eyes and stare, dumbfounded, at Tyson. He has risen to his feet almost instantaneously, causing his chair to be thrown behind him. I see his palms slapped angrily on the table, his breathing uneven. Most of all, I see his huge auburn eyes tearing into me with disgust. Something inside of me clicks as he stares at me intensely. I feel frozen in place by his gaze, but I try not to show it. Instead I stare back with as much gusto as I can muster, waiting on my toes for his response. I have honestly never seen him like this.

But all Tyson does is give me one, final, dismissive stare and walk out away from our little camping ground. He ambles to the edge of the forest and disappears into the dense trees, his fists at his side. No one tries to stop him, especially me, although I feel as though I should run to get him, to apologize. The image of his gaze stops me though, and I remain standing in the same place.

The area is quiet following the aftermath of mine and Tyson's fight. I can't seem to get a grasp on what happened, on what made Tyson so quick to react and with such…disdain. Tyson's a pretty passionate guy, and he loses his cool sometimes. But I'd never seen it happen so quickly to that degree, and with me. Usually, I was the first one to storm out of the room, boiling with rage.

I look to Kenny, Max, and Ray with a quizzical look plastered to my face. Kenny avoids eye contact with me, taking out his laptop and typing what I imagine to be fake words, just to escape my wrath. Max, however, meets my gaze and gives me an apologetic look. I wait for Max to tell me what's going on, but Ray starts talking instead.

"Hilary," I flinch and look down as he says my name softly. I know I've gone too far this time, and I know that Ray is going to tell me why. Damn his rationality. I hate being the bad guy. Or girl, I guess in this case. "Tyson…didn't need to hear that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Ray exhales deeply. "When you said that he wasn't the World Champion, just because he 'bladed in the deciding round, well…that sort of thing really gets to him," Ray notices my puzzled expression and continues. "Tyson hears this all the time, on the news, from classmates, from other beybladers. Yes, any one of us could have spun the last round of those battles and won. The fact that he did, and that he gets the attention for it, well…sometimes it makes him feel guilty,"

I can feel my expression shift from one of confusion to one of surprise. Tyson, guilty? Tyson, questioning his abilities?

But there's still one thing that I don't understand, and I make this clear to Ray as soon as it passes my mind. "But…if he deals with this sort of stuff all the time, then why did it surprise him just now?"

"I guess he just didn't expect it from _you_. I mean, you're one of his closest friends, believe it or not. And to hear you say what those others are saying…"

Ray continues his little speech about Tyson, but I don't listen. My mind is still stuck on the first two sentences. _He didn't expect it from_ you_. You're one of his closest friends…_

I shake myself out of my stupor and collapse onto a chair. I can't believe…what a jerk I was. I feel everyone's eyes on me, on my slender, fragile figure perched at the edge of the chair. They're eyes are filled with mild concern but I don't care, all I know is that I have to make things right. Frantically my mind works to find some sort of way to make it up to Tyson.

"I-I've gotta go," I tell the others, hurrying out the front door. I know they won't ask questions, because they know what I'm going to do.

I desperately canvas all of the surrounding campsites, frantically searching for any sign of a baseball cap, a red jacket, a grey beyblade. I see no sign of that cocky, navy-haired boy, the one whose feelings I've hurt. Who would've thought that Tyson could be fighting such an inner turmoil? Maybe he's not as dense as I thought…

I feel so bad.

Soon, I find myself at the edge of the darkened forest. There are a million different pathways that lead to through the forest to other camping grounds, but I've searched all of them. The last path, the one that is standing before me, is the only one I haven't checked. And it heads towards the mountains.

I look up and see those worldly mountains standing over me, enveloping the entire area in a shadow. Cautiously, I peer into the pathway. The trees are so thick that I can barely see anything, save for a couple of logs and twigs scattered across the forest floor. It looks a little ominous, a little lonely. With a sinking feeling I realize that Tyson might have gone in there, blinded by his anger. Leave it to Tyson to do something reckless – like wandering into a dangerous path alone – when he's emotional.

As I give the forest one last once-over, I decide not to go in there. Like seriously, there might be rapists in there, lurking in the darkness. How creepy is that?

My legs are tired, aching, and painful. I walk a small ways away from the edge of the forest and look all around me before taking a seat on the ground. I place my arms on knees and tilt my head downwards, trying to figure out what to do next. Finding Tyson seems pretty much hopeless at this point. I'm _so_ close to giving up when I feel someone's eyes on me. My heart starts beating fast in my chest as I contemplate what to do.

Oh my god. That could be a serial killer. Or another rapist that's found his way out of the forest.

Or…it could be Tyson.

I flick my eyes open immediately, removing my head from my hands with a prepared scowl on my face, ready to attack any passer-by who has stopped to stare at me. But when look up, I see none other than Kai, wearing a look of disapproval on his face. Kai sees my scowl, and I see his war-painted face stretch into a smirk.

A serial killer would probably have been better than him.

"Hn."

"Shut up, Kai. I'm _so_ not in the mood." I can tell what he's thinking even though he doesn't say it. I see his face tighten and he goes back to his original, cold stature. His cold, indigo eyes survey my position on the ground and he huffs, closing his eyes. He crosses his arms and begins walking away, but not before turning around one last time.

"I was going to tell you that I saw a certain egotistical 'blader enter that pathway," He doesn't point to the frightening path directly, but I see his amethyst eyes flit towards it subtly before continuing his sentence. "He looked pretty damn terrible, if you ask me."

I stare at him, my eyes wide. Did _the_ Kai Hiwatari just speak more than one word? About Tyson? To _me_? Oh my god, I must be dreaming.

I know he sees the look of surprise on my face, I know he realizes his mistake. Kai just grunts and walks away, in an obvious huff over his little slip. I want so desperately to thank him, but by the time the thought crosses my mind, he is but a speck in the distance. All I can see, really, is his long, billowing scarf. I smile knowing that underneath his icy exterior is a friend. Kai can be a pain sometimes, but sometimes he really comes through for us all.

I get up and urge my legs to take me back to the entrance of the pathway, all the while thinking of how to make it up to Tyson. I decide to stop at the campsite and steal a couple of rice balls from Ray's not-so-secret stash. To, you know, butter him up. If I know Tyson, he'll be stubborn, but he'll jump at the chance to eat.

But this whole thing has me thinking about more than ways to bribe Tyson. Maybe he's more complex than I assumed...

It really leaves you with _Food For Thought_.

**(A/N):** Boo! So what did you guys think? Leave a review if you'd like, tell me how to make it better! Or maybe something you'd like to see in coming chapters? I can try to incorporate it :) Woo, anyways, it's like 1:31 AM where I am now, so I'm going to sleep :P Have an awesome week guys!


	9. Tyson Rule 8: Keep Your Cool

**(A/N):** Another update, and it's quicker than the last! :) So this is rule number 8 in Hilary's TFD book! It's basically a continuation of the last chapter. Anyways, leave me a review and tell me what you think of it, it would be very much appreciated! Before I let you read, I'm going to continue to thank everyone who has reviewed the chapters...again, it means a lot to me! :) Okiee...here's rule 8! ENJOY! :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade.

_Tyson Rule #8: Keep Your Cool_

I'm so freaking scared.

I feel like the forest is closing in on me, trying to trap me within its terrifying grasp. The surrounding murky darkness feels almost claustrophobic, and the tall trees that stand on either side of me are boxing me in. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, hoping to calm my pounding heart. Unfortunately, it doesn't work too well. Behind my closed eyelids, all I see are the images of creepy shadows popping out from behind the trees, gradually surrounding me, encircling me, suffocating me…

With a sharp gasp I open my ruby eyes, letting them dart around my surroundings. Everything seems to be how it was a few seconds ago, but I can't shake the eerie feeling I just got. I sigh and tilt my head upwards to the sky, only to be greeted by a thick ceiling of leaves and tree branches. They block out a majority of the sunny skies, making everything a hundred times spookier. There are only a few rays of the slowly dissipating sunlight that reach the area that I'm in, and even those aren't comforting in the slightest. They give the small clearing a haunting glow.

What did I get myself into?

I glance over my shoulder behind me, looking for the reassurance of the pathway entrance which I had come through a few minutes before. To my dismay, there is no sign of it anywhere. I look all around me, only to notice the same colour everywhere: green. My mouth immediately becomes dry and I can feel the onset of a panic attack slowly coming to the surface. There is no reassuring light behind me, no exit for me to run to in case I get attacked. There is no way to tell which way I walked, since I've gotten so deep into the forest. With a sinking feeling, I realize that I am completely and utterly lost in a dangerous forest. And I'm alone.

Oh my god, I think I'm going to die.

Remorse and depression immediately overwhelm me. I'll never be able to get out of this place, and then I will probably end up starving to death. Or worse, I could probably get eaten by a bear. I won't be able to become a teacher, and I'll never get married to the love of my life. I won't experience the joy of having two kids – a boy and a girl – and watching them grow into strong, independent adults. I'll probably end up dying right here, right now, slowly becoming a shrivelled prune before succumbing to the darkness of death.

I sound so morbid. And it's all _his_ fault.

I'm about to plan out my will – which Tyson will have no part of because of this incident – when I hear the distinct sound of a twig snapping a little to the right of me. My heart begins to pound within my ribcage again and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Nervously, I fiddle with the hem of my denim skirt, trying to build up the courage to look in the direction in which the noise came from. I figure that, like pulling a Band-Aid off fast, I have to check the scene out now or it'll be painful and torturous. Quickly, I whip my head around to face a dark pool of forest. Try as I might, my eyes don't focus on anything within the trees or on the ground. I seem to be alone.

Just as I convince myself that I am imagining things, I hear the faint crunching of footsteps on the earth. I think the sound is emanating from right in front of me, so I inch backwards gradually. I pull back as far as I can, all the while keeping an eye ahead of me. Eventually I back up into another wall of trees, leaving me just mere feet from the pool of darkness. Trembling, I hug the trunk of a tree behind me, inwardly hoping that I'll blend in with the surroundings. The crackling noise becomes louder and clearer, and too late I realize that the noise is actually coming from right behind me.

I feel the pressure of a warm hand on my shoulder.

I twirl around to see a face illuminated by a bluish glow.

I freak out.

"Ahhhh!" I don't hold back the blood-curdling scream that rises to my throat. "Rapist!" I knee my predator in the gut. With a groan, the culprit lets me go, and I scuttle a few steps away.

"Damn…" I hear them grunt as they collapse onto their knees.

"Yeah, you _thought_ you could take advantage of a young girl in a forest," I say with a satisfyingly shrill voice, stooping down to pick up a hefty-looking stick and swing it front of me wildly. "But not this girl."

Briefly, the willowy figure seems to search for something on the ground before getting to their feet. My heart begins beating wildly in my chest again, and I brace myself for another attack. My harasser gets to his feet, stumbling a little. He clutches his stomach and for a second I think I've defeated them. But then they take a shaky step towards me.

"Not any closer, you pervert," I flail the stick in front of me once again. "If you come any closer, I will yell and scream and make your life a living _hell_."

"I'm sorry to break it to you, but I think you already _do_ make my life a living hell."

"What?"

"And you think _I'm_ dense,"

"Huh?"

"Sheesh Hil, it's me. You know, the guy you like to annoy the living daylights out of?"

I squint and will my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, the image in front of me becomes clearer. The silhouette of a tall, capped male takes shape. I let out a sharp breath but I don't let my guard down. Carefully, I point the stick in my hand at the boy and extend it as if I'm fencing. I cautiously jab at the person's gut, prodding them thoroughly. The stick doesn't go right through the shadow, so I know I'm not hallucinating. But I'm still not convinced.

"Yeah, right. You can't be Tyson. You have _abs_."

"Hey," The supposed imposter whines, and I see one of his hands rub the side of his stomach. "First of all, that hurt. And second of all, _what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?_"

"Um, isn't it obvious?" I drawl, pointing to my own abdomen region as I try to explain. "Tyson eats so much. And he's lazy. So really, he should be pudgy –"

"_WHAT?_"

"—I have to admit, though, you had me going. With the voice and the outfit and all. But I know you're not Tyson. Now prepare to _die_."

The male stomps his foot on the ground so hard that the ground shakes. I stop my rant momentarily and watch dazedly as he tugs something out of his jacket pocket. He presses a button and it lights up, exposing a set of glowing buttons. He holds what appears to be his lit-up cell phone to his face, providing me with a clear picture of the blue-tinged face I saw before. I stare at it for what seems like hours before I finally register his face.

"Tyson?"

"Ding, ding, ding!" I flinch, noticing the bitterness and sarcasm in his voice.

"I'm sorry…" I'm too embarrassed to look directly into his russet eyes, so instead I look at the open-toed sandals on my feet instead. My face becomes hot, and silently I count my lucky stars that it's getting dark. He won't be able to see me blush profusely as I apologize to him. I take a deep breath, preparing to ask for his forgiveness for the million things I've done wrong today. "I'm sorry that I hurt your ribs—"

"Yeah, why the hell did you do that anyways?" Tyson frowns as he interrupts, rubbing his ribcage once again.

"I'm sorry, it was a reflex." I tell him a bit sheepishly, still not breaking the unfaltering gaze I have on the ground beneath me.

"It was reflex for you to assume that I was a rapist, and to beat me up? What kind of family did you grow up in?"

"Shut up. The point is—"

"Seriously, Hil. If you keep kneeing every guy who touches your shoulder, you won't get any dates."

"Like I would take dating advice from you."

"What?"

Thank god he didn't catch that. "You know what? Never mind. The point is," I nervously try to switch the topic, so as not to hurt the boy's ego anymore. I think I've killed it enough for today. "I'm sorry for that. And while I'm at it…I'm sorry for saying those things to you today. I had no idea—"

"Yeah, you really didn't." Tyson levels the tone of his voice and I see him cast a sort of disappointed look in my direction.

"You have to understand, I didn't know that you were bothered that much by the media—"

"Whatever," He interrupts me yet again, and I feel my anger starting to bubble beneath the surface. I try to keep my anger in check, though; I've already insulted him about a million times today. I swallow my pride and allow him to continue. "It's the price you pay for being a celebrity."

He flashes me a smug grin, and before I can stop them, words start spewing out of my mouth. "Don't flatter yourself."

"You sure know how to kick a guy when he's down, don't you?"

"I swear, Tys, I didn't mean that!"

"Sure you didn't," He's quick to reply, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He starts to stalk off further into the darkened forest, muttering profanities under his breath. The bite to his tone catches me off-guard; I can practically hear the resentment and hurt within it. Frantically, I scurry in the direction that he stomped off in. I have to make things right.

"I-I'm sorry," I start to stutter as I yell out to him. He doesn't stop to address me, and he doesn't respond, so I continue. "It's second nature, having those arguments. So my mind automatically has a comeback before I can stop my mouth from working. And I'm not saying that's an excuse for my behaviour, because it's not. I just want to explain why—"

"Save it, Hilary," I flinch as I hear him use my full name. He only ever calls me 'Hilary' when he's truly annoyed with me.

"Hear me out," I begin pleading with him as he turns around to face me. Because of the fading light I can barely see his face, although I can see a hint of a sad glimmer within his narrowed chocolate eyes. I feel another wave of guilt and remorse thunder through me as I lock my eyes with his. But when I make eye contact, I start to feel flustered again. I want to open my mouth to say a composed apology, but what comes out is a jumble of words. "I-I didn't mean to and I want to, I mean, I _really_ want to say that I didn't mean to do that and—"

As I continue to prattle on, Tyson's gaze softens a bit and I see his lips curve upwards into a small smile. My heart does an odd double-beat as I slowly see his face return to normal. His eyes light up again, he puts on that silly grin that I didn't realize I missed so much. He scratches his head and gives me a funny half-sympathetic, half-moronic look. It's only then that I realize that I haven't stopped talking for about five minutes, and that my sentences aren't making much sense.

With renewed confidence, I proceed to begin my composed apology to the World Champion. "Um, anyways, I just wanted to truly apologize to you. You are a fantastic 'blader, and if anyone deserves to spin in the final round, it's you," I take a deep breath, and begin inching closer to him. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, will you—"

I'm about to finish my question when I feel a tugging sensation around my right foot. Before I realize that a log is restricting my foot from moving, I try to take another step. Within seconds I lurch forward, ruining the graceful moment I had initially planned on when apologizing to Tyson. I stick my palms out to help my body brace itself for the thunderous blow of hitting the cold earth. Instead, my hands hit something else. Still a bit shaken from my near-fall, I look unsteadily upwards and meet the brown eyes of my saviour.

"—forgive me?" I squeak, finally finishing my question in the arms of Tyson himself.

"Um, yeah, whatever," His normally steady voice comes out all hoarse and uneven, and I hear him clear his throat fully before fixing his response. "I mean, of course I do, Hil. You're one of my best friends." He throws me another one of his lopsided grins and I smile back.

Slowly, I peel myself away from Tyson and dust myself off. The atmosphere has become a bit awkward, but I'm just glad to have my friend back. It was scary for a while, not knowing if he would even _think_ about forgiving me. I think I have to know when to shut up sometimes. And keep my temper in check. Otherwise, I'd have probably lost that idiotic best friend of mine forever.

_Keep Your Cool_.

"Ahem," I hear Tyson clear his throat to try to break the silence that slowly enveloped us after my tripping incident. I quirk an eyebrow and shoot him a quizzical look as he starts to stare at me with a strange smile on his face.

"What?"

"So," He starts, adding a sly tone to his voice. "You think I have rock-hard abs, eh?"

"I never said that," I say, rolling my eyes at him. "Now let's just focus on getting out of here before one of us kills the other."

"What happened to that heartfelt speech I got earlier?" Tyson replies, pouting slightly. "And more importantly…I _do_ have abs, don't I?" He beams proudly, patting his stomach.

I sigh, grabbing the collar of his jacket as I begin tugging him in the direction I want to go. "Come on, pretty-boy, you can check yourself out when we get back to the campsite."

**(A/N): **Haha, Tyson's self-obsessed X) LOL. So let me know what you thought of this chapter if you'd like, I'd love to hear from you! Anyways, until next time! :)


	10. Tyson Rule 9: Never Underestimate

**(A/N): **Why hello there! :) Yes, I'm still alive. Sorry again for the delay! I feel so bad! It's just been so hectic with university getting back into high-gear. Sighh. Anyways, enough about me and university. Let's get to the (hopefully) more exciting stuff. :D Rule #9, _finally_. Longest chapter of the past couple. So let me set the scene for you guys again. Hilary found Tyson, and now they are still in the forest, trying to find a way out. That's where we're at when the story gets underway...just wanted to point that out. :P Well, I hope you like it! Review and let me know how you found this chapter. :) As always, thoughts are always welcome.

Oh, and one more thing: THANK YOU TO ALL OF YOU WHO READ/FAVED/ALERTED, and especially to those who reviewed! You people are the best! (L)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade. Oh, and with the poems, the first two lines aren't mine. I don't really know who made those up, though. X) The last two lines I tried to make up, or heard before from a friend. :)

_Tyson Rule #9: Never Underestimate_

"Do you have any idea where we are right now?"

"Nope."

I look at the capped teen walking beside me. He doesn't really seem to care that we're hopelessly lost deep within some forest on the outskirts of town. Tyson seems quite at peace, actually. His arms are folded casually behind his head as he strolls through the path beside me. Occasionally he unfolds out of his casual demeanour to sidestep a tree or a log in his way, but he goes back to his normal, laid-back self afterwards. He is definitely not going through the mental breakdown I'm silently going through right now. I throw him a puzzled look, and bring up this point to him.

"You're not scared in the slightest?"

"Nope."

I narrow my eyes at him and plaster a scowl to my face. "Is that all you can say?"

He throws me his typical, lopsided grin before responding, "Nope."

I let out a growl and turn my attention back to the pathway. The last thing I need is to trip over the forest floor and have Tyson catch me again. As I think back to the incident, I feel myself blush. Usually, I would have brushed such an incident off as only embarrassing and possibly pride-bruising. But today, I can't say that I hated it; that would be lying. Sure, it was humiliating, but I couldn't shake the feeling I got when I landed in his arms. It wasn't _un_pleasant, that was for sure. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, exactly. All I knew was that it was something _new_ when it came to Tyson.

"What do you want from me, Hil?"

Oddly enough, that was one of the questions that was going through my mind just before he broke my thoughts. What _did_ I want from him?

I stare at him blankly, blinking my eyes a couple of times before I register what he actually means. "For you to _actually_ keep up a decent conversation." I reply, eagerly trying to push those wretched thoughts from my mind.

"Okay, fine." Tyson agrees, oddly enough. He runs a hand through his midnight-blue hair before responding to my earlier question. "No, I'm not scared. This is actually a break for me."

"How so?"

"Well," He pauses momentarily to duck under a protruding branch. "It's a break from all the craziness of beyblading. I want some time to myself, you know?"

"So you can be lazy, you mean." I reply.

"Shut up," His cinnamon-brown eyes narrow as mine did before. "I do stuff other than beyblading."

"Oh. Like eating?" I laugh, seeing a flicker of annoyance dash across his features.

"No," he adjusts his hat nervously before he continues, "_other_ stuff."

"Like…?"

"I write poetry."

The moment he says that, I plant my feet on the ground, unable to move. Did the World Champion 'blader just admit to me that he writes _poetry_ in his spare time? I stare at him with a dumbfounded expression on my face, trying to imagine a sensitive side to the hot-headed male before me. A somewhat heart-warming image dances through my mind. It's of Tyson, sitting at a desk, his nose crinkled and his brow furrowed.

Somehow, the image doesn't compute.

I scrunch up my face, much like the Tyson of my imagination, and give him yet another puzzled look. To my surprise, his face is twists into a smirk.

"Just kidding."

"I knew it. I can't imagine you doing poetry. It's beyond your knowledge."

That trademark pout of his tugs at his lips, and I can't help but crack a smile as he begins to whine. "Are you saying that I can't write poetry?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Tyson snorts. "For your information, I am an awesome poet."

My insides prickle, and I feel a laugh rising up into my throat. The thought of Tyson and poetry still hasn't sunk in, and I doubt it ever will. The idea is sort of drifting near the surface like a piece of driftwood caught in high tide; it's floating there, but it will never be a part of the sea. The image tickles my brain once again, and I fight to stifle my laughter. The sound comes out sounding like a gurgle.

With a half-bemused look on his face, Tyson removes his hat and places it over his chest in a patriotic manner. He closes those russet eyes of his and clears his throat in a dignified manner before launching into an English accent.

"_Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
I like cake,  
And I know you do, too!"_

I quirk my eyebrows, giving him a questioning look. "Is food all you think about?"

"No, but come on, Hil, its _food_."

"Food is good for how it _tastes_," I tell him dryly, shaking my head, "but it doesn't make for good poems."

"Oh, and I suppose you think that you could do better?" I catch the sarcasm in his voice again; surprisingly, he's actually getting quite good at it. It seems like it's become second nature for him to mock me. The taunts just spill out of his mouth, nowadays. Usually, my response is to yell and annoy the hell out of him. That, or give him a slap to the face. But I can't say that I know anything about poetry – I'm hardly the poetic type. Still, I'm not the type to back off of a challenge, either. As I'm thinking this through, Tyson scoffs, narrowing his eyes at me while shooting me another glare.

I finally decide that it's best to let it slide. It'll probably make him angrier if I ignore him. I love to make him squirm.

But then he says one thing, just _one little sentence_ that's able to sway me after I've made my decision. It's probably the _only_ thing that can change the mind of _any_ person with Tachibana blood coursing through their veins: "I thought so. You're too scared to face off against the World Champ."

Scared? Oh, it's _so_ on.

"You're on, pretty-boy. And you're not the World Champ of _poetry_, so beating you will be a piece of _cake_." I smirk as I emphasize the last word, proud of my clever little joke, but Tyson just sighs and shakes his head slowly.

"I hope your poetry isn't as bad as that joke of yours. That was just plain sad."

"Shut up," I scowl. I honestly thought that it was a decent joke. Obviously, he doesn't know a good joke when he hears one.

"So am I going to hear this supposed better poem today, or what?"

Damn. I didn't really think this through enough. I don't have a responding poem yet; I have to wing it. It's almost pitch-black within the forest, but I can still see the smug grin on Tyson's face as he watches me fidget. There is no _way_ that I am giving him the satisfaction of winning this little competition. There are a tonne of poems I can come up with. I just have to start with finding words that rhymes with _blue_. There's _boo_, _loo_, _two_—

But before I can utter a single word, Tyson startles my train of thought. "Wait. Before you say – or _try_ to say—" he quickly throws me a smirk before continuing, "your poem, I have an idea that I would like to propose."

I stop and stare at him vacantly, trying to read his thoughts. Just by looking at the maniacal expression on his face, I can tell that it isn't going to be good. Oh god, what did I get myself into?

"Let's make this interesting," he finally says, flashing me another grin.

"How so?"

"A bet," Tyson smiles evilly, his eyes glinting in the slowly fading light. In the surrounding darkness of the forest, he actually looks like some sort of devil. I'm a little sceptical of trusting him right now, but it's not like I have a choice. I think I'd be worse off being alone, actually. I hate to admit it, but he _does_ make me feel safe. Maybe. A little.

But all guys are like that, right?

I shake the thoughts out of my head and try to focus on his words. "…wants for a whole day, no questions asked."

"What?"

"I _said_," he starts again, giving me an irritated look, "We each come up with these little rhyming flower poems. Whoever doesn't get the last poem in before we exit the forest loses. The loser of our poetry competition has to do whatever the winner wants for a whole day, no questions asked."

Initially, I wasn't sure if I was going to like the bet or not. Tyson does this weird thing where he doesn't use his common sense. He once made a bet with Max, one which found them making –or, attempting to make – a cake from scratch. Apparently, Tyson forgot how to use a stove, because he almost burned the entire dojo down. Needless to say, he was kicked out of the kitchen for eternity. Or until he got some common sense, which I guess is pretty much the same as eternity. Naturally, I was sceptical. But the moment he suggests that little bet of his, there is not a doubt in my mind that I'm going to go through with it.

I mean, how often do you get to boss Tyson around, and actually get away with it?

"I'm in," I say, grinning at him. "It is going to feel so good when I beat you."

"Let's make it official," He spits in his hand and extends it to me. "Spit-shake?"

"Ty_son_! Ew, what the hell?" I gag, practically choking as I eye his hand with disgust.

"Do girls not do that?" Tyson asks, frowning slightly.

"No, gross! Get that thing away from me!"

"Well, then, how do girls make a bet official?" I see his hand sag as it falls to his side. He wipes the spit on his jeans, and I feel another gag rising up my throat. Do guys know _anything_ about hygiene? Honestly, it's like they came from a completely different and disgusting planet. I guess I should be used to it now – I've had a testosterone overload for the past couple of years – but still, it amazes me how little these guys, especially Tyson, know about girls. And hygiene, I guess. Frantically, I try to push away the image of Tyson wiping his spit-ridden hand on his jeans, and concentrate on answering his question.

"Have you ever heard of a pinky swear?"

He makes a grimace before replying, "Yeah, but that's so…_girly_."

"At least you can't get germs from another person this way." I frown. Sometimes Tyson is hopeless.

"What's the difference between this and kissing, then? I mean, that's what you do right? 'Swap spit'?" He puts air quotes around the final phrase and looks at me pointedly.

"Uh…" Honestly, his last statement catches me off-guard. I don't know how to reply to that, exactly. And I'm not the best at dealing with matters of the relationship variety; I've never been in one before. But obviously, Tyson doesn't mind asking those types of questions in front of me. And he doesn't seem to be awkward about it, either. So I say the first thing that pops into my head at that moment. "Sure…I guess. But it's _you_…" I notice my unintentional insult as I see a flicker of hurt dance across those pools of chocolate brown, so I backtrack, trying to clarify my words. "I mean, I wouldn't because you're my _friend_."

He brightens up enough to answer, "Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it!"

Was he talking about the spit-shake or the kiss?

I shiver and stop my thoughts in their tracks, and instead stick my tongue out at him in response. Then, I extend one of my slender arms towards him, my pinky finger high in the air. "So, do we have a deal?"

He reaches out and clasps my pinky, nodding with that crooked grin on his face. "You're going down, Hil."

"In your dreams."

"You'd be lucky if I dreamt about you," he winks before continuing, effectively causing me to flush. Oh thank _god_ that it's dark outside. "So, where is this poem of yours?"

"Oh, um, right." I bite my lip as I watch him stare at me with an amused expression on his face. "Here it goes…

"_Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
You look like a monkey,  
And you smell like one, too!_"

"Hurtful," He pouts for a second, sticking out his lower lip a little, but his face quickly reverts back into one of his characteristic grins. "But I'm thinking that this poem would apply more to someone along the lines of Daichi?"

"That monkey-boy," I growl, silently appreciating the fact that the younger boy had gone back to his hometown for the summer. I hate that kid. Well, hate is a strong word. It was more like _strongly dislike_.

Tyson laughs at my expression. "My turn…

"_Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
Pigs are great,  
But cows go 'moo'!"_

"I see we're on an animal theme now. Let's see if I can break that," I reply, trying to come up with a poem to counter his own.

"Not into animals?" Tyson asks, giving me a questioning look.

"No, I just hate repetition." I'm a little lost since I'm trying to come up with a poem, so I answer him with a distant voice. At first, I don't see the start of a laugh tugging at his lips. But soon enough, I hear a muffled snort coming from beside me. I turn to him, giving him yet another glower. "Shut up," I scold him, swiftly cutting him off before he tries to make fun of me. "It's a pet peeve of mine."

"It's a little weird…"

"Shut the hell up and listen to my damn poem."

"Oh, a little touchy today, are we?"

He's such an idiot. But I can get back at him, the poetic way.

"_Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
I hate jerks,  
Which is why I hate you._"

He blinks at me for a few moments and I stare at him triumphantly, happy to see that he is briefly speechless. If he can't respond soon, he'll be cruising towards a very painful day as my slave. But then, before I can unleash a celebratory cry, he just bursts into laughter.

That's right. He actually _laughs_ at my insult.

"I appreciate the emotion and all, but you did that totally wrong."

"Ha, right. I have more emotion than you could ever have." I scoff, crossing my arms and stopping in the middle of the pathway.

Tyson stops walking and backtracks until he is beside me, that stupid grin still on his face. "Watch and learn."

He places his hands on either of my shoulders and twirls me around to face him. He takes a finger and places it under my chin, slowly tilting my face upwards until my ruby eyes are matched up with his auburn ones. I suck in an unsteady breath and am met with the intoxicating scent of his body spray mixed with a lingering smell of the surrounding forest. My heart does the same little unsteady flip it did when I was apologizing to Tyson, and suddenly a memory pops up, the one of being in his arms as he caught me earlier. My legs feel a little shaky, and I think if Tyson hadn't been holding me, I would have collapsed.

What is wrong with me? It couldn't be—

Before I can register any thoughts, Tyson looks into my eyes and utters four lines that make my heart go into cardiac arrest.

"_Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
My life is nothing,  
Without you._"

Did he really just say that? Did he mean it? And what the hell is wrong with me?

Before I can say or do anything else, Tyson lets go of my shoulders and prances away happily. I stare, speechless, as he points to a hole in the surrounding greenery.

"Oh, is that the campsite? Sorry, Hil, your time is up. Looks like I win!"

All that comes out of my mouth are random syllables and sounds of letters. I can only stand there, flabbergasted by the turn of events. Although I have to say, I'm more surprised about Tyson's poem and its effect on me. I have no idea what happened or _how_ it happened, but somehow…I didn't mind it. It didn't feel awkward, it didn't feel weird.

But it _did_ feel kind of nice.

It takes me a while to break out of my trance and realize what really happened with our bet. Only after I notice that I'm alone in the forest do I march outside, anger seething underneath my surface. I thought that I could win this bet easy. But I got played like a violin. I was sucked into his charming – I mean, stupid, freaking, idiotic – personality. I got conned by the most arrogant, egotistical jerk on the face of this planet.

The worst part is, I liked it. I think I'm more irritated at myself than I am at him right now…

_Never Underestimate_.

Never.

**(A/N):** How was it, people? I know, the poem thing was random. :P But I hope you liked it! A little more romance-ish stuff going on! ;) I know, it's slowly getting there. But love takes time. :P (Cheesy) Haha, anyways, lemme know how it was in a review if you'd like! Until next time. :)


	11. Tyson Rule 10: Take Chances

**(A/N): **Oh. My. God. I haven't updated in like 3918390823 years! Okay, so maybe that's a BIT of an exaggeration. But it _has_ been a really, really, really long time. I'm so sorry! I've been busy with school and such ever since I uploaded my last story, so I haven't had much time to write! I also had a case of writers block, so I'd only write like 100 words or so everyday-ish. Bah. This is what school does to you! :P Anyways, I'm so so so so sorry! Believe me, I haven't forgotten about this story, and I never will. :) Thank you to all of you who read and review, fave and alert it. It really means the world to me. And getting those little reviews makes me all happy when I read them! :D

Okay, so Rule 10. I hope it's okay. As I said, I was writing in between work and writers block. Let me know if you liked it or not, what to improve, or even how your day/week/month is going! I love to hear anything. :P

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade, or the song _Misery_ by Maroon 5. :)

_Tyson Rule #10: Take Chances_

I feel around for the small zipper on either side of me. It's a little hard to find at first, but once my fingers run across the small metal tab, they mechanically tug at it and unzip the sleeping bag. Hesitantly, I open one eye, scanning the room quickly before opening the other. The room stares back at me, large, empty, and dark. Prying open my eyes fully, I fixate my orbs on the window. I can tell it's going to be another sunny day; the edges of the window are tinged with a faint glow.

I sigh, gingerly peeling away the navy-blue covers of my sleeping bag. I wish I could stay in bed all day, doing nothing but sleeping and relaxing. Sure, it's tempting to just pull the covers up to my chin and pretend like I have nothing to do. But I've been playing hooky for several days now. I know I can't ignore any of the commitments I made.

I _loathe_ the fact that I always have to do the right thing.

Sitting up slowly, I run a hand through the dishevelled brown mess that is my hair. I have the compulsive need to smoothen my honey-brown locks; it slowly eats away at me, making me uncomfortable. It seems weird, but I get a kick out of having everything perfect. It's just the way I am; the perfectionist within me doesn't allow me to function properly without doing the right thing and doing it _well_. Sometimes I wish I could throw all of that out the window, and just live spontaneously, carelessly, precariously. I want to take a walk on the wild side.

Damn it, I want to live _dangerously_.

My mind somehow conjures up the image of this motorcycle, all shiny and new. It's mainly black with a couple of chrome accents on the handlebars and hubcaps of each wheel. The leather seats are matte, but the bike itself is coated in a glossy onyx colour. And although it's beautiful – in its own way, I guess – what catches my eye is the tall, dark and handsome guy sitting on this motorcycle, clad in a leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans. He sits there, looking all rugged and handsome, giving this gorgeous thousand-watt smile.

The bad-boy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look is kind of hot, actually.

I snap out of my daydreaming and notice my hand is still tangled within my chestnut curls. Sighing, I notice that I'm the exact opposite of what I'd like to be. No guy like that would want to get involved with someone like me, a girl who can't stray away from her normal routine. As much as I _want_ to be that way, the thought of being edgy scares me. Closing my auburn eyes, I fight off my immediate instincts to flatten my hair and instead mess it up even more, letting a couple of strands fall on my face. Even though it goes against every fibre of my being, I let it stay that way. I can feel myself becoming less uptight and more relaxed by the second.

I rest in the aftermath of my dangerousness for a few seconds before I hear a knock. I let out a short breath and stare at the door, willing the person behind it to leave me alone. But to my dismay, a few seconds later, a muffled voice makes its way into my room.

"Open up."

I tilt my head to the side in confusion, trying to interpret the undertone to his voice. I want to be quiet and pretend like I'm still sleeping, much like I have for the past few days. I know it's wrong to be lying so _blatantly_ to my friends, but I really can't face them. No, scratch that. I don't _want_ to face them. _Especially_ not—

"Hilary."

I groan loudly, letting him know that I'm awake and that I'm not happy about it, but I don't make any motion to go and unlock the door. I just pull the sleeping bag covers over my legs again and attempt to block out the noise of his fist pounding against the door. I feel a little uncomfortable, and my inner conscience is telling me to reply. I stop myself, though, by thinking of the person I _want_ to be. I let out a deep breath and try to channel my inner…

_Badass_.

I complete the thought with a sense of finality, although I flinch as the word echoes through my mind. Even thinking that word makes me squirm. I can't believe I just swore. Albeit, it was in my head, but things like that never go through my mind. Still, I feel the somewhat hazy perfectionist, uptight and restricting veil lift a little above my head. I smile at my small progress.

"I know you're awake."

I snort, crossing my arms over my stomach. Well, duh.

"If you're going to be a part of this team, you have to get out of that room. You can't seriously be sick _still_."

I frown at the door, although I know he can't see my expression. The guilt is slowly starting to eat away at my sides, followed closely by my conscience. Keeping up a lie is harder than it looks; honestly, I don't know how those criminals do it. The uneasiness in my stomach is now so overwhelming that it has started to physically hurt me. I guess you have to have nerves of steel and almost no conscience to be a felon.

And you probably have to be immune to butterflies.

My insides do a flip, and I tighten the grip of my arms against my tummy in an attempt to stop it. Damn those stupid butterflies. Damn them _all_.

The sound of the shallow knock against my wooden door resonates around the room again, breaking the momentary silence. I growl, narrowing my eyes at the entrance. Then, before I can stop myself from speaking, I blurt out, "You're acting like Kai!"

"Ouch. That hurts," I immediately imagine Ray placing a hand over his left side as if an imaginary bullet had gone straight through his heart. I smile, still not bothering to get up and open the door for him. I'd trust Ray with my life, but I know he's probably got something up his sleeve. After a few moments of silence, he picks up on this. "So…aren't you going to open the door?"

"Nope," I reply, somewhat wincing as I say the word. It triggers a series of memories that I'm trying to avoid altogether. A rough layer of goosebumps starts to form, washing over my skin like a wave starting just under the sleeve of my t-shirt. I shiver and rub my arms frantically, trying to remove the oddly cold feeling.

"Just tell me the reason you've been in there for the past week."

"Did you not go to health class? When it's a girl's time of the month—" I'm cut off by a loud thump on the door, which I can only assume is Ray's head pounding into the wooden surface in a frantic attempt to shut me up. "Okay, okay, I'll shut up. Just don't give yourself a concussion. God, guys are so _immature_."

"Speak for yourself," he finally murmurs in reply. "You're the one cooped up in there in the dark. Max and I think that you've become some sort of soulless vampire." He pauses for a second, so I assume he's finished his thought. But soon enough, his muffled voice drifts into the room once again. "Prove me wrong and come outside, Hilary."

"You're the one with fangs!" I snap, and immediately I feel bad. "Sorry, Ray. You know how it is during this time—"

"Uh, no I don't," The twinge of hurt in his voice is evident, but I can hear another subtle undertone mixed in with it. Disappointment. "Because A), I'm not a _girl_," he states, "and B), I don't think that's your _real_ reason for staying in there for so long."

So now he's a mind reader. Just freaking perfect.

I choose not to answer him, instead opting to fall back into my sleeping bag with a loud sigh. I pull a nearby pillow over my face and scream into it, letting out all my frustration. The noise comes out sounding like a gurgle. Who cares if people get suspicious? I'm not coming out of this room anytime soon. I'd rather sit here and starve to death than come outside.

"Is this about Tyson?"

It's like he's _in my head_. So damn scary.

"No…" I say, listening to the sound of my muffled voice through the pillow. There's no way he's going to get to the bottom of my issues. So maybe he has a few suspicions. No big deal. There is no need to tell him that those suspicions of his are right.

For several moments, he doesn't respond. I hear the subtle creaking of the floorboards through the door, the thumping of footsteps, whispering voices. I'm guessing that one of the other guys is talking to Ray, and by the annoyed tone to their inaudible murmurings, I'm guessing that the news being shared isn't good. I sigh, glad that Ray finally decided to let the issue go. I curl up under the layers of covers, even though it's boiling hot within the room. My eyes come to rest on a bright aqua-coloured tuft of fur peeking out from one of the sheets. I pull out my teddy bear very gently and hug it to my chest. I know it's childish, but hugging my bear always made me feel a little bit better. And I don't care how immature it seems, but I take her everywhere, though I'm sure to hide her when I'm at sleepovers with friends or when I'm training with the boys. It's my only secret…

Well, I guess it's not the only one anymore.

I'm about to drift back to sleep, my stuffed animal in my arms, when I hear Maroon 5's _Misery_ echoing across the expanse of the room. Noticing the ringtone of my phone, I sit up groggily and push myself up from the ground. I cross the room and reach my phone in a matter of seconds. I see my blackberry light up with the _Unknown_ caller profile but I decide to answer the call anyways. It's not until I _really_ listen to the set of lyrics emanating from the phone that my fingertips hesitate when they are just a fraction of an inch away from the screen.

_I am in misery, there ain't nobody who can comfort me._

How eerily accurate.

My hand shakes as it hovers above the ringing phone. Misery is the perfect way to describe how I feel. I don't want to go out there and face the scrutinizing stares of Ray, Max, Kai, and Kenny. And I definitely don't want to be stuck having to answer to Tyson after the way I acted in the forest. I'm absolutely dreading seeing all of them. I stare at my phone uneasily as it continues to vibrate across the floor. I have no way of telling who might be calling since I don't have caller ID. It could be anyone, and the fact that it could be _him_ scares me even more.

But the silence is slowly killing me.

"Hello?" I say, sort of breathlessly.

"Get out here."

"Ray," I sigh, rolling my eyes although I know he can't see me. "Why are you calling me? Why can't you just talk through the door? Or better yet…why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I will, if you agree to come outside," he chuckles on the other end.

"You know as well as I do that it's _not_ happening." I tell him pointedly, starting to get a little frustrated.

"Well then, I'm calling to let you know that you have an ultimatum."

"Ultimatum?" I blink dazedly, confused as to his response. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he replies, and by the tone to his voice I can tell that his next words aren't going to be very pleasant, "that you have ten minutes to get your ass out here."

"And if I don't?" I challenge, raising my voice.

"I'm going to kick down your door and drag you outside."

"You wouldn't dare,"

"Try me."

The way he finishes his last comment makes me realize that he's not in the mood for playing games. Ray sure can be tough when he needs to be. If he makes some sort of promise – or threat, I guess, in this case – he's bound to follow through. It's one of the things I admire about Ray.

And one of the things I'm starting to hate.

Before I can think of some witty comeback, the phone line goes dead. I bring the phone away from my ear and clutch it harshly within the palm of my hand, staring at the time. 10:09. Resigning seems like the only option at this point; I see no other way to get out of seeing the team. I suppose my 'time of the month' excuse wouldn't have let me get away for much longer anyways. Sure, those guys were dense, but they knew the basics. It sort of sucked, actually. I might have been able to get away with staying in my room for the whole summer, had they decided to skip out on health class.

A small pitter-patter sound breaks my train of thought. It is a few moments before I realize that the noise is coming from behind the window drapes. Curiously, I make my way over to the window as the noise continues to erupt, faster and louder than before. The tapping goes on for a moment longer before I decide to pull aside the drapes. As I whip the curtains open, I'm met with the image of two huge auburn eyes and a mop of unruly navy hair. For a moment, my breath stops and I feel my heart drop within my chest.

But then I get over it. I think.

"Oh my god, Tyson. What the hell?"

"Oh hey, Hil," he gives a quick grin before his eyes come to rest on my messy honey-brown locks. "Uh, what's with the hair?"

I place a hand protectively over my curls, the small metaphor for my new, rebellious nature. "What do you _want_, Tyson?" I grumble, a little peeved about his comment.

He lifts his gaze off of my hair with a nonchalant shrug, and then turns to look at me in the eyes. "Let me in, Hil," he pleads through the thick glass barrier between us. "Quick, open up the window latch so I can climb in."

"Why should I? You gave me a freaking heart attack," I huff at him as he tries frantically to open the window from the outside. He claws at the slippery surface, attempting to break the glass. Sighing, I open the window open a crack. Tyson's face momentarily brightens, but when he sees me put the securing latch of the window on at its position, he frowns.

"Look, I'm sorry about that." He doesn't bother looking at me. All he does is stare at the fixed window latch in front of him longingly. "Could you please just let me in?"

"No." I reply, throwing him a glare. Sometimes Tyson is a real jerk. He says and does certain things that make everyone want to slap him. Especially like now. I have the strongest urge to smack him across the face. Of course, I'd have to open the window fully to do that, and I don't want to risk him being able to enter. God, I can't believe I have a crush on this idiot.

_Had_ a crush, I mean. A very small, temporary, mostly insignificant one. Not one at all, actually. More like friendship. Yes, friends. Friends, friends, friends.

"_Please_," he begs, falling to his knees in mercy. I can slowly feel the anger start to die down. Damn him and his idiotic Granger charm. As Tyson continues to plead his case, I watch, with a bemused smirk settling on my face. "Max and Ray are after me. I need to hide someplace that they won't find me."

"What?" I ask, taken aback. "Why?"

"Why else?" he says in a monotone voice, "Training. Let me in."

"As much as I hope they catch you," I start, "I can kind of relate. Ray just gave me an ultimatum."

"An ulti-what?"

I sigh tiredly. Using big words with Tyson never works. It always goes through one ear and comes out the other. "He pretty much threatened to kick down my door and drag me outside if I'm not ready in ten minutes."

"When did he say that?" he asks.

"10:09. Why?"

He pulls out his phone from his pocket, pressing a button which illuminates the screen. He takes a quick look at it and then growls. "Damn it. We only have three minutes."

"Yeah."

After a couple of seconds of resigned silence, Tyson pipes up from the other side of the window. "So?"

"So what?"

"Aren't you going to get out here?"

I look at him, dumbfounded. Does he really expect me to climb out of the window in my bare feet and run around the campsite like a maniac? In my pyjamas? In my mind, I've made up my decision. There is absolutely _no_ way that I'm going to escape from my room, like some sort of convict trying to break out of prison. Besides, the logical thing to do would be to head to practice and keep up the commitments I have with the team.

But then I feel a short gust of wind make its way through the crack in the window and ruffle my hair, blowing some tangled strands onto my face and others away from it. And then, in that moment, I know what I have to do.

I'm going to _Take Chances_.

**(A/N):** So how was it? Good or bad? Lemme know in a review, if you'd like. Until next time! Peace & love. :D


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